Aftermath
by ack1308
Summary: Taylor Hebert dies in the locker. But the story does not end there ...
1. Chapter 1

**Aftermath**

* * *

Part One: A Death in the Family

* * *

_Disclaimers:_

_1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it._

_2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations._

_3) I will accept any legitimate criticism of my work. However, I reserve the right to ignore anyone who says "That's wrong" without showing how it is wrong, and suggesting how it can be made right. Posting negative reviews from an anonymous account is a good way to have said reviews deleted._

* * *

Danny looked up at the knock on his office door. He frowned; Rosalie didn't usually bring around the coffee cart for another quarter hour. "What is it?" he called.

"Mr Hebert, there's a policeman here to see you," replied his secretary. "He says it's urgent."

A sick feeling began to grow in his gut, but he tried to tamp it down._It could be any number of reasons._

"Send him in."

The door opened, and a burly uniformed officer entered. He held his cap in both hands, and seemed rather uncomfortable.

Danny rose and went around his desk.

"Danny Hebert," he introduced himself, holding out his hand, trying desperately to keep this normal, make this something inconsequential.

The policeman shook his hand. "Sergeant Livermore, BBPD," he responded. "Mr Hebert, I think you'd better sit down."

Danny found his knees going to water, and he collapsed in the chair he usually kept for visitors.

"What ... is it ... Taylor?" he choked out.

The sergeant nodded. "I'm very sorry, sir. She was admitted to the Central Hospital while I was on the way over here. The attending physician declared her dead on arrival."

Danny felt his heart racing, his vision greying out at the corners. He gasped for breath. Distantly, he heard the officer asking if he was all right. Then everything went black.

* * *

He came to a few minutes later by the office clock; he had been placed in the recovery position. Kneeling over him was Fredericks, the designated first aid officer. Sergeant Livermore was standing back, watching the proceedings.

"Mr Hebert, can you hear me?" asked Fredericks.

Danny nodded. "What happened?" His voice was thin and thready, even to him.

"The sergeant says you passed out. Bad news?"

"The worst," croaked Danny. He looked up at the sergeant. "How did it happen?"

Livermore shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't discuss the situation with anyone else in the room. We're treating it as a criminal case."

Danny began to get up; Fredericks pushed him back down. "Mr Hebert, you have to rest -"

"Screw that." Danny looked Fredericks in the eye. "Let me up or you're fired."

Fredericks got up, looking hurt. Danny clambered to his feet, accepting a hand from Livermore as he did so. He found himself a little wobbly on his feet, but kept his balance.

"Can I see her?" he asked.

Livermore nodded. "I'm authorised to ask you if you're able to come in to the hospital now, to make the identification."

Danny nodded. "I can do that."

* * *

The moment Danny was in the police cruiser, with the belt fastened and the car in motion, he turned to Livermore. "Okay, we're alone. What the hell happened to my little girl?"

Livermore pursed his lips. "It looks like a school-type prank taken way too far, sir. She was shut into her own locker, along with what looks like toxic waste of some sort."

"A _prank?" _demanded Danny, his voice rising. "What the hell sort of prank is _that?"_

"The type that leads to criminal charges, sir."

"So how did she die from being shut in her _locker?"_

"Now that, sir, I am not sure about. The doctor will be able to tell you more."

"Okay, so what happens to the people who did it?"

"We are pursuing our inquiries. Everyone who was, or might have been, in that hallway at that time will be interviewed. When we find out the culprit or culprits, we will be prosecuting with the full weight of the law."

"So you don't know who did it."

"Not yet, sir. But so very few of our cases start with us knowing all the details. It's why we have investigative procedures, sir."

"So what will they be charged with? Murder?"

"Potentially, sir. Frankly, it may end up being argued down to negligent homicide in court, with a good enough lawyer. But time will tell."

Danny found that his fists were clenched so tightly that his nails were digging into his palms. He forced them to relax.

"But Taylor is dead. My daughter is dead."

"I'm afraid so, sir. I am very sorry."

Danny leaned his head against the cool glass of the car window. "Christ."

* * *

The still white form lay on the sterile metal table. Danny thought his knees were going to buckle again, but he took a deep breath and stiffened his spine. "Show me."

The doctor folded back the sheet, revealing Taylor's face, still and blank in repose. A small cut on her forehead had been cleaned; her eyes were closed. Her hair was arranged neatly around her head.

"That ... that's my daughter," he managed. "That's Taylor. What ... what happened to her? Why did she die? The sergeant said she was shut in a locker. Did she suffocate?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, sir," he responded. Carefully, he placed the sheet back over Taylor's face. "If you would care to sit down, Mr Hebert ...?"

Danny sat once more. The table was still there, in his peripheral vision, with Taylor's sheet-covered form on it, but he focused his attention on the doctor. "Tell me."

The doctor took a deep breath. "I believe, from the visible symptoms, she suffered a massive onset of toxic shock syndrome. There are wounds all over her hands and arms, as well as her knees, from repeated impacts with a hard surface."

"The inside of her locker," Danny guessed.

"That is our supposition, yes. She was sharing the locker with some extremely vile material containing old, rotted blood, as well as potentially pathogen-bearing insects. This material got into the wounds, and the toxins were quickly transported around the body. The estimate is that she was in the locker for the best part of three hours. This was long enough for a reaction to set in."

Danny put his face in his hands. _"Christ."_

He could only imagine what her last hours, her last minutes had been like; shut in a stinking hellhole, feeling the toxins spreading through her body, knowing she was dying ...

Abruptly, he bent over and threw up. Everything that he had eaten in the last twelve hours came up; by the time he was straining at bile, there was a bucket under his chin, and an orderly was already mopping up the mess.

"Are you feeling better, sir?"

Danny glared at the doctor, but accepted the damp cloth to wipe his chin.

"My daughter is dead due to a vicious, misguided, psychopathic school prank. What part of 'better' applies to that, exactly?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I've seen cases come through here ... this is one of the worst. And that's saying something."

_For Brockton Bay, yes. _Danny knew what he meant.

He stood up, suffering the orderly to run the mop over his shoes. "Can I have a drink of water?"

The drink was not long in coming. He sipped it, then washed his mouth out and spat the residue into the sink.

"Now," he growled, "I'm going to the school.

"I'm going to get some _answers."_

* * *

Sophia Hess watched the police and emergency workers; some of the former were interviewing the faculty, while others were talking to random students. The emergency workers were cleaning up the crap that had spilled from Taylor's locker.

Beside her, Emma whispered, "They say she was _dead!"_

Sophia shrugged slightly. "Shows how much of a wimp she was." Inside, her guts were churning; she'd never killed someone in such a way before. It hadn't been deliberate, but it still sent a thrill down her spine. She didn't know whether to be terrified or elated.

Madison, on the other side of Emma, said nothing; she just watched the scene with frightened eyes.

The phone on Sophia's hip vibrated; she jumped, and then relaxed. Pulling the phone out of its holder, she accepted the call. "Sophia."

_"Miss Hess." _The voice was that of Deputy Director Renick. _"Please make your way to a secure location and return this call."_

"Sure thing, Mom." She shut the call off, turned to Emma and Madison, and inclined her head toward the stairwell. "Gotta go tinkle," she lied. "Let me know if anything happens."

Making her way up two flights of stairs to get to the bathrooms was, as always, a pain. But it almost guaranteed that no-one else would be up here. They were all watching the freakshow downstairs.

She checked every cubicle to make sure they were empty before locking herself into the last one. Then she dialled the number back.

_"Renick."_

"It's me."

_"Ah, good. We heard about the death at your school. Did you see what happened?"_

"Ah, no, sir. I was in class. Why?"

_"Why? You're a __**Ward**__. You're supposed to __**help **__the police in matters like this."_

"Sir, I'm not very good at investigative matters. And if Shadow Stalker suddenly shows up to help out, then people might start wondering."

_" ... you have a point. Well, keep your eyes and ears open, and if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, report it to the police at once."_

"Of course, sir."

_"Very good. We'll give you a more thorough debriefing when you report in, this evening. It looks bad, having someone die in a school that a Ward is attending."_

"Understood, sir."

_"Well, I'll let you get back to it. Remember; anything unusual."_

"Got it, sir."

He hung up; Sophia shut her phone down, then leaned back against the toilet tank with a silent sigh.

_Dodged a bullet there._

She found herself suddenly needing to use the facilities; she did so, then washed her hands before going back downstairs to rejoin the others.

Emma glanced at her; Sophia shrugged.

They went back to watching the police and emergency services.

* * *

End of Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Aftermath**

* * *

Part Two: Bad Reactions

* * *

The Hebert house was still and silent, save for the restless movements upstairs in the main bedroom.

Downstairs, there was evidence that all was not well. One of the kitchen chairs lay broken against the wall, beneath the mark of its impact on the wall, at head height. Small ornaments in the living room were shattered, including the TV, which had the remote still protruding from a ragged hole in the screen. Back in the kitchen, broken glass lay on the ground beneath a large splash-mark, perhaps tomato paste, on the wall.

Danny Hebert tried to sleep. He managed to do anything but. His motions as he tossed and turned were erratic, driven by his inner torment.

In the one moment, he saw Taylor as she had been, happy, smiling, laughing. Then in the next, he saw her still, lifeless body on the morgue table, eyes closed, the small cut on her forehead. And in the third, his imagination took over, seeing her as she would have been in the locker, screaming, hitting the door, crying out for him. And he never came for her.

_I failed her. When she most needed me, I failed her._

He remembered the confrontation ...

* * *

"What do you mean,_you don't know?"_

Principal Blackwell recoiled as Danny Hebert's fist crashed down on the desk, rattling pens and causing a stapler to fall off the edge. "Now, Mr Hebert ..."

Danny took hold of the edge of her desk. For a moment, she looked as though she thought he was going to flip it over on top of her. For a moment, he really wanted to try. "Have you even _tried _finding out? Fucking _seriously?"_

Blackwell tried to lean back away from him without appearing to do so. "The police are investigating -"

This time, he did shove the desk back at her; it scraped over the carpet. "You've got to be fucking _kidding _me! You aren't even _trying _to find out, are you? Covering up just as hard as you can, aren't you?" He shoved the desk again; despite his skinny frame, he managed to move it a few more inches. "Well understand this. I have a friend in the media. If things don't change, then everything comes out. _All _of it."

"Mr Hebert." Despite her best efforts at control, Principal Blackwell's voice was shaking with ... what? Fear? Anger? "If you do not leave immediately, I will call the police."

"Yeah," he growled. "You _do _that." He stalked around the desk; Blackwell stood up hastily. When they were just a yard apart, he leaned in menacingly. "One week."

"W-what?"

_"One. Week."_He lowered his voice. "If this shit is not sorted in _one fucking week, _my friend in the media gets _everything. _And I will be sure to contact _every single parent _with a child in Winslow. See how your precious school holds up _then."_

* * *

He turned and left, the door slamming behind him. Blackwell slumped into her chair opened a desk drawer, pulled out a packet of antacid pills, and dry-swallowed half a dozen.

_I'm not covering anything up. But how can I make him understand this? Fuck._

* * *

Outside, in the corridor, Danny was heading for the open air, for freedom. A teenage boy intercepted him.

"Uh ... sir?"

Danny glared at him. "What the fuck do _you _want?"

The boy gulped. "I - uh - you're _her _father, aren't you? T-Taylor's?"

Danny glowered. The kid was gawky, nerdy. He didn't need this shit. But then, this kid was the first person who had approached _him _in the school.

"Do you know something?"

"I, uh, I might." The boy swallowed, and glanced around. "T-Taylor, I think she was being bullied -"

Danny rolled his eyes. "What _fucking _led you to that conclusion, Einstein?" he demanded. "The fact that she was locked in her locker, or the fact that she fucking _died _in there?"

"Uh, Greg, sir. Greg Veder."

Danny shook his head in puzzlement. "What?"

"N-not Einstein, sir. My name's Greg Veder. I had World Affairs class with her."

Danny took a deep breath. The kid was actually starting to make sense. "And you were her friend?"

Greg Veder shrugged slightly. "I wanted to be. But she didn't really like me, I guess."

Danny ignored that. "So what makes you think she was being bullied?"

"A, uh, couple of girls in her class, they used to do things like put glue or juice on her chair or desk," stammered Greg. "Took her homework away and pretended it was theirs. Stuff like that."

Danny leaned closer, menacingly._"Names,"_he gritted.

Greg looked like he was on the verge of wetting himself. "Uh, uh, uh, you should ask Mr Gladly," he tried to temporise. "He teaches that class."

Danny made a mental note. "I will. But I'm asking _you. Here. Now."_

Greg closed his eyes and tried not to whimper. "J-Julia. And M-Madison."

"Surnames?"

"Madison's surname is Clements, I think. Not sure about Julia's. Morrow? Something like that?"

Danny took a deep breath. At last, something he could vent his rage at. "Anything else?"

Greg shook his head. "No, no, really. It's all I know."

"Good," growled Danny. "Thanks. And I might just be telling the police to ask you some questions, so don't go forgetting what you've just told me."

"I - I won't," Greg stammered, and made his escape. Danny watched him hasten off down the hallway.

_Madison Clements and Julia somebody. Mr Gladly's class. Right._

He turned and walked away.

* * *

Neither Greg nor Danny saw the unfriendly eyes that observed their meeting.

Once they were both out of sight, Sophia Hess emerged from the classroom and looked thoughtfully after Greg.

_I wonder what he told him._

_I might have to ask him some serious questions._

* * *

In his bed, Danny was just slipping into a restless doze when a whisper awoke him. He sat bolt upright, eyes open wide.

The whisper came again.

_"... dad?"_

"Taylor!" he called out. "Taylor!"

_" ... dad?"_

"Taylor! Where are you?" He lunged out of the bedroom, checked hers, checked the bathroom, checked downstairs, tripping over furniture in the dark.

He didn't find her.

And then he stilled his breathing, staring into the darkness.

"Taylor?"

_" ... dad? I don't know where I am ..."_

He found an intact kitchen chair, set it upright. Sat in it.

"Taylor? Are you real? Talk to me."

_" ... I don't know, dad. I don't know where I am."_

The whispered voice faded away.

Danny called out to her, begged, pleaded. To no avail.

Eventually, he went back to bed. But there was one thought fixed in his mind.

_Taylor's alive. Somehow. Somewhere._

_And I'll find her._

* * *

End of Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

**Aftermath**

* * *

Part Three: Evidence and Investigations

* * *

**Tuesday**

* * *

Senior Sergeant Don Garbutt blamed Hollywood; specifically, he blamed the movies and TV shows that portrayed police as being bumbling and incompetent, where untrained civilians were able to uncover salient facts about an ongoing investigation and save the day.

_It's as if the investigative techniques we've developed over the last hundred years are just optional extras. Any major case comes up, you get wackos coming out of the woodwork, convinced that they have the solution well in hand._

Those were the irritating ones. And then you just got the sad ones.

Such as the one he was faced with, this chilly Tuesday morning.

"So if I understand what you're saying, Mr Hebert," he offered patiently, "you believe that you know who's responsible for your daughter being in that locker. Is that right?"

"Yes!" Danny Hebert probably wasn't an excitable man under ordinary circumstances. But the day after the death of one's only daughter could not be counted as 'ordinary'. "I've got a name! Two names!"

"And these names are ...?"

"Madison Clements," recited Danny crisply. "And Julia ... somebody. I don't know her last name. He couldn't tell me."

"Who couldn't tell you, sir?"

"His name's Greg somebody ... Veder, I think. I don't know how it's spelled. But he's - he was - in the same World Affairs class with her, and with the other two girls. Mr Gladly teaches that class, I think he said."

"We can definitely check all that out, sir," Sergeant Garbutt assured him, writing the names down. "So, this Veder boy, what did he say the connection was between your daughter and these other girls?"

Danny's voice was flat. "He said they were bullying her. Putting stuff on her seat, stealing her work, being mean to her."

The police officer looked perceptively at him. "And she never told you about this?"

Danny shook his head helplessly. "I never knew. We used to talk all the time. These days ...". He trailed off, defeated.

"Does her mother know about the bullying?"

Danny Hebert jerked as if he had been slapped. His voice rose. "What, you don't _know?"_

Sergeant Garbutt knew that he'd just committed a faux pas, but he wasn't sure quite what. "Know about what, sir?"

"My wife's dead. She's been dead for nearly three years. It was a car accident. You're investigating my daughter's murder, and you don't know this?"

"Sir, I'm not part of that investigation. All I know is that it happened.". _Christ,_ he thought. _Losing both his wife and his kid inside of three years. Poor bastard._

Danny took a deep breath, and composed himself. "Okay. Sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice like that. But what are you going to do about it?"

"About the allegations of bullying? We'll look into the matter, of course."

"But he _said_ -"

"Mr Hebert." Senior Sergeant Garbutt might be a desk-bound cop, but he'd done his time on the streets, and he still knew how to put the snap of command in his voice. "This Veder boy could be mistaken. He could be lying, to get them in trouble, or to take the heat off of someone else, or even off of himself."

Danny was silent, thinking about his words. Garbutt forged on. "Police work isn't like in the movies, or on TV, sir. We rarely get a single case-breaking clue handed to us just in time for the wrap-up and credits. It usually involves days, weeks or even months of painstaking work, running down leads, interviewing people, identifying suspects, getting warrants and building cases."

He took a deep breath. "Now, what you've just passed on to us is very likely quite significant, but exactly _what_ it signifies has yet to be determined. Do you understand, sir?"

Slowly, Danny nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I appreciate it.". He pushed the chair back, went to stand.

"Ah, just a word, Mr Hebert."

Danny halted his movement. "What?"

Garbutt's voice was almost gentle. "One of the things that _can_ derail an investigation like this is having untrained amateurs going around asking their own questions. That sort of thing can muddy the waters, and make it almost impossible to catch the real perpetrators. Do you understand what I'm trying to say, sir?"

Danny Hebert was silent for a long moment. "You're telling me in the politest possible terms to butt out and let you do your job."

"Well, to not put too fine a point on it, Mr Hebert – yes."

Danny's shoulders slumped slightly. "Message received and understood. I'll be getting out of your way, then."

Standing, he made his way from the interview room. Garbutt watched him go, then checked over the notes he had taken. _Well, it's definitely a potential lead._

Pulling out his phone, he called up a number and hit speed-dial.

* * *

**Monday Night**

* * *

Greg Veder sat at the computer in his bedroom, typing industriously, chatting to his online buddies in his persona of XxVoid_CowboyxX.

He frowned. From the talk on the board, it looked like his favourite free-to-play online game wasn't going to be on for much longer. This was a problem; he needed something to play, to get good at, to learn the cheat codes for, to chat to his online buddies about.

Browsing the PHO boards, commiserating with the other players, he caught a mention of something called Space Opera.

_What's that?_ he wondered.

A quick online search garnered him a description of the game's premise and how it was played. Intrigued, he clicked through the links till he found a site that he could download his end of the game from.

With a sense of satisfaction, he clicked the link, then started checking back. _Hints and tips. Need hints and tips._. Some small part of his mind registered the tiny rustle of noise behind him, but he didn't pay attention.

At least, not until the hand went over his mouth from behind.

* * *

**Tuesday**

* * *

Detective Dana McAllister leaned back in her chair as she answered her mobile.

"Oh, hey, Donny. What's cooking?"

_"You're working the Hebert homicide, right? The girl in the locker?"_

"Yeah, that's me. Joy. We're interviewing the rugrats as fast as we can process them through, but nothing's popped yet. Why?"

_"Because I might just have something for you. A couple of names and an allegation of bullying."_

Detective McAllister sat upright in her chair. "You have my attention."

* * *

**Monday Night**

* * *

"Be very quiet," hissed a voice in his ear. "Do not raise your voice. Do not call out. Do you understand me?"

Very cautiously, Greg nodded.

"Good. I'm going to take my hand away now."

The iron-hard grip relaxed, and the hand came away from his mouth.

"Can I – can I turn around?" he whispered.

"Slowly," the voice growled.

Very cautiously, he turned … and his jaw dropped.

"Oh my god," he blurted. "it's _you!"_

The menacing form of Shadow Stalker, seeming to spread darkness even in the brightly-lit room, leaned in; he drew back.

Her voice was a venomous hiss. _"Shut. The. Hell. Up."_

He shut up.

She seemed to relax slightly. "Better. Now, what do you mean by 'it's you'?"

He tried to keep his voice to a whisper, but it wasn't easy. "It's _you!_ Shadow Stalker! I mean, you were badass before you joined the Wards, but now … " His voice trailed off; he fumbled on his desk for his phone. "Can I get a picture, to prove I met you, that you were in my – urk!"

He suddenly felt himself being rammed back against his computer desk, her hand tight on his throat. The strength went out of him; he did not even have the courage to struggle.

"I'm not here for _photo opportunities."_ The venomous hiss was back. "I'm here investigating a murder. I understand you know something about it."

"M-murder?" he gulped, his Adam's apple constricted by her tight grip. "Oh, uh, you mean Taylor?"

_"Yes."_ Her grip loosened slightly. "What do you know about it?"

"Oh, uh, nothing really. Just that … those girls … they were bullying Taylor, and I thought they might have had something to -"

He choked momentarily as she squeezed his throat again.

_"Which girls?"_ As if in afterthought, she relaxed her grip so that he could answer.

He had to cough a couple of times before he could speak properly. "Uh, uh, Madison Clements and her friend, Julia. I've seen them in Mr Gladly's classroom, playing mean tricks on her, and -"

The contempt in her voice was plain. "And you never stepped in? Never intervened?"

He hung his head in shame, as much as he was able with her hand on his throat. "No, I, uh -" _Didn't want to become a target myself._ But he couldn't say it; it sounded cowardly.

"Never mind." She seemed to think matters over.

Her grip relaxed; she took her hand off of his throat. He inhaled, wondered if his throat would have bruises. _Yeah, dude, that's where Shadow Stalker interrogated me. No shit, man, she was all up in my grille._

She spoke again, low and deadly, and his attention focused abruptly. "Madison and Julia, and anyone else who might have had dealings with Taylor at the school, are not the issue here."

"But -"

She quieted him with a gesture toward his throat; he shut up. "I am asking for _your help_ here, Veder. You want to help the Protectorate, don't you? You want to help find Taylor's killer?"

Dumbly, he nodded. Excitement built in his chest.

"Here's the deal. Danny Hebert's dealings with the Dockworkers' Association aren't squeaky clean; they never have been. He's pissed off some very well-connected criminal types. Taylor was killed like that to send a message; if he keeps going the way he is, he's next. And that they can get to him anywhere, just like they got to Taylor."

His eyes were wide open now, as he tried to absorb what she was telling him. Criminal conspiracies in Brockton Bay's underworld, shady dealings coming to light, Taylor an innocent victim – this was like the best movie ever!

Except, of course, that Taylor was dead.

"How … how can I help?" he whispered.

"Keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut about what I've just told you. You're gonna keep a lookout on matters in the school for me. Anything out of the ordinary, you let me know."

"Uh, how'm I going to -"

"You don't contact me. I contact you. And just remember. Anyone who might've been ragging on the girl a bit – they're just a smokescreen. You know who _really_ killed her."

"So do you want me to tell -"

She shook her head impatiently. _"Tell no-one._ If this gets out, it could wreck the whole case. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

"Good. Keep your eyes and ears open; I'll be watching."

And with that, she turned to smoke and threw herself at the closed window. The curtains barely stirred at her passage.

Moments later, his mother looked into the room.

"Was that you I heard talking just now, dear?" she asked.

"Uh, I just got off the phone," he lied.

She nodded. "All right. Don't stay up too much later. It _is_ a school night, after all."

"Okay, Mom."

She stepped into the room, bent down to give him a hug and a kiss on top of his head, then left once more.

Greg turned to his computer and opened a private chat with his online buddies.

_Dudes,_ he typed. _You are __**never**__ gonna believe what just happened to me ..._

* * *

**Tuesday**

* * *

"Well, well, well," mused Dana McAllister. "Thanks, Donny." She put her phone down and typed the name _Clements, M_ into her computer. It accessed the infodump that had been handed over to the Brockton Bay PD by the harassed Princpal Blackwell, and pulled up the yearbook picture for 2010.

Dana considered the sweetly smiling picture. _Looks like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth._

It didn't make a difference; she didn't care what they looked like. If they were guilty, she'd arrest them.

There were several girls called Julia in that year; McAllister looked around until she found the class lists, cross-referenced them against the teacher's name – _Gladly, right_ – and ended up with the class list for that particular World Affairs class.

It contained, not very much to her surprise, Greg Veder, Taylor Hebert, Madison Clements, and a Julia Morrow.

_Well, they're both in the class, just like he told Danny Hebert. But that doesn't prove anything._

She swivelled her chair to address the stocky man who sat at his own desk, a few yards away.

"Joe, how you going with those interviews?"

Detective Sergeant Joseph Farrel grimaced. "Be getting through them faster if people didn't stop interrupting me for status reports."

"Sorry." She didn't mean it, and they both knew it, but at least she had the grace to pretend. "Need to know if you've spoken to a Clements, first name Madison."

He leafed through the copious manila folders on his desk. "Yeah. Got her right here."

"How about Julia Morrow? Or Greg Veder?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Nowhere near the M's yet."

She shrugged. "Win some, lose some. Bump 'em to the top of your list, will you? Also, a teacher, Gladly. We need to see if he witnessed bullying behaviour in his World Affairs class, directed at the Hebert girl, and who was doing it."

"No problem, boss." He held up the folder. "Want it?"

"Yeah, thanks." She accepted it, and leafed through it. "Huh. Pretty bland. 'Didn't know her that well. Tried to be friends, but she wasn't that sociable.'"

"According to the other interviews, she's one of the very few who even bothered to try," commented Farrel. "Most everyone else so far's just said, 'Taylor who?' or some variant thereof."

"Thereof," snickered McAllister. "Trying to better yourself, Farrel?"

"Hey, just because I read books with more words than pictures -" he retorted with a grin.

"Interesting thing to note," she stated, cutting him off, "is that the dad says the Veder kid approached him and told him that the Clements girl was bullying her. And now she says in police interview that she was trying to be her friend? It doesn't add up."

"Maybe she was, and the Veder kid mistook it for bullying? Me and Frank beat each other around a bit sometimes."

McAllister shook her head. "You're a guy. Guys show affection differently. And what Donny told me, it wasn't friendly ragging. No, I want to hear what the Morrow girl's got to say, and if the Veder kid is happy to repeat what he told Hebert."

Joe nodded. "On it."

"Good." McAllister turned back to her own computer and started calling up other photos with Madison Clements tagged on them; she was looking for outdoor candid shots, such as might be taken at sports events.

_If she was really trying to be friends with the Hebert girl, then maybe they're in one of these photos together._

She didn't find a single match. But she did find something else, the significance of which would escape her for a little while yet.

Police work, by its nature, was long and tedious. She kept at it.

* * *

**Monday Night**

* * *

Shadow Stalker drifted on the breeze, away from the Veder house. _And the moron goes online and starts blabbing it to all his buddies. Am I a genius or what?_

She smiled coldly, under her mask. _All I've got to do now is wait for the story to spread, and the police won't know what to believe. And if they're looking at her father for other stuff, they're less likely to believe anything he says._

The fact that her ploy, if successful, would likely ruin a good man's career did not even enter her thinking.

She paused on a rooftop, glancing around for the next vantage point to leap from.

_…. sophiaaaa ..._

She spun around, loosing a crossbow bolt at a fleeting shadow. The bolt passed right through and disappeared in the night.

"What the fuck … no. I did not hear that."

But telling herself that was one thing. Believing it was entirely another.

And the cold sweat down her back did little to convince her.

* * *

End of Part 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Aftermath**

* * *

Part Four: Interrogations and Revelations

* * *

Dana McAllister cleared her throat. "The time is three forty-five PM. The date is Tuesday the fourth of January. This is Detective McAllister, speaking to Julia Morrow on the subject of the death of Taylor Hebert."

She stopped the recorder, and replayed her words. They came through loud and clear. She restarted the recorder, and looked at the girl sitting across the table from her. "Now, Julia – may I call you Julia?"

The kid shrugged. "Free country," she allowed.

_Attitude. Right._

"Thank you, Julia. Now, I'd just like you to understand that you aren't in any trouble. I'm just interviewing you as a potential witness for anything that may have led up to Ms Hebert's unfortunate demise."

"Don't you mean murder?" blurted out Julia.

Dana frowned slightly. "I'm sorry. What do you mean?"

Julia waved her hands. "People are talking about Taylor's death like it's a murder, right? Isn't that how you're looking at this?"

The detective shook her head slightly. "We don't have enough information to go on yet. If the person or persons who put her in the locker intended for her to die, then that would count as murder, yes. But if the intent was simply to imprison her for a little while, then it becomes negligent homicide."

"But they go to jail both ways, right?"

Dana nodded. "Negligent homicide still carries a prison term, yes. But as I said, we don't have enough information either way. And in any case, I'm just trying to get any information that you yourself knew about Taylor's social situation."

"Oh." Julia seemed oddly disappointed. Dana knew the signs; here was someone whose view of the police had been shaped by Hollywood.

She smiled, to put the girl at ease. "So; how well did you know Taylor?"

* * *

Julia was on guard, despite the friendly smile. _Madison said they didn't know anything, but it's a bit weird that I've jumped the line._

Her attempt to get more information had failed – not really surprisingly, all things considered – but she knew what Madison had said, and so she knew what she had to say.

"Oh, not that well," she told the detective. "She was a little bit of a loner. But Madison and me, we kind of tried to talk to her, be on her side, you know?"

McAllister noted something on her pad, and Julia had to restrain herself from trying to crane her neck to see what was being written.

"This would be Madison Clements, yes?" asked the detective, with barely a pause.

_Wow, she must have a good memory._ "Uh, yeah, yeah, that's her."

The detective put down her pen. "What classes did you have with her?"

"Oh, uh, World Affairs, a few others."

McAllister tilted her head slightly. "Did she have problems with anyone in the class? Or did anyone have any problems with her, do you know? Did anyone speak to you about her?"

Julia felt ice creeping down her spine. "Uh – no, no, not really," she stammered, before inspiration bloomed before her eyes. "Except -"

The detective picked up on it immediately. "Except what, Julia?"

Pretending reluctance, she paused. "I'm really not sure … I don't want to get him in trouble … "

Steel entered McAllister's voice. "Julia, I need to know who you're talking about, and why."

"It's … it's, um, Greg Veder," Julia 'confessed'. "He's a bit creepy, you know? Always wanting to partner with Taylor. Always trying to get close to her, to talk to her."

"Greg Veder," murmured the detective, scribbling on the pad. She looked up at Julia. "Just that?"

Julia shook her head. "No, he … I think he was stalking her. Emails and stuff. She used to talk about creepy emails she was getting. And I saw him watching her as we were packing up to leave class one day. This little creepy smile on his face. Like he knew something I didn't."

Now she was making stuff up off the top of her head, but McAllister seemed to be eating it up.

"That's very interesting, Julia," the detective noted, writing some more. "Do you know if he followed her out of school, or if this was strictly an in-school thing?"

Julia decided her lies had gone on far enough. "I have no idea," she stated. "I never rode the bus with either Taylor or Greg."

McAllister nodded. "That's understandable. So, about your other classes ..."

* * *

Don Garbutt looked across the table at Greg Veder. McAllister had filled him in on the information she had gotten from the Morrow kid. Apparently it bore out what the Clements girl had told her, and also cast doubt on what Veder had told Danny Hebert.

_Kid doesn't look like a pervert. But you never can tell._

"So, Greg," he began. "Why don't you tell me what you know about Taylor Hebert."

Greg swallowed. "Um, she's always been kind of lonely." He ducked his head slightly. "She's nice to me. Doesn't make fun of me." Visibly, he corrected himself. "Uh, _didn't_ make fun."

"So you liked her then?" Garbutt's voice was studiously neutral.

Greg nodded jerkily. "Yeah, kinda. It made me mad when -"

Don Garbutt waited for him to finish, but he didn't.

"Greg? Made you mad when what?"

* * *

Greg gulped. Shadow Stalker had told him that the people who caused trouble for Taylor weren't the real problem here. And he'd nearly told the police sergeant about them. That could make the police look in all the wrong places. _Could I be arrested for telling police stuff that makes them fail to get the real perpetrator?_

"Greg?" asked the cop again.

"I, uh, never mind," Greg tried to evade.

Sergeant Garbutt's voice was hard. "'Never mind' what, Greg?"

Greg hung his head. "Madison and Julie," he mumbled. "They played tricks on her." His head came up again. "But they aren't the real problem."

"Why aren't they the real problem?"

The words came out before he could stop them. "Because they had nothing to do with Taylor's death."

If he'd thought he had Senior Sergeant Garbutt's full attention before, he had been sadly mistaken. But he certainly had it _now._ The police sergeant's voice was hard and sharp, and impossible to ignore. "And you believe you know who had something to do with her death?"

Greg floundered. "I – uh - "

_Shadow Stalker told me not to tell anyone. Oh shit._

Garbutt was leaning forward. "Greg, if you have something to say, then it's best that you say it now. You aren't in trouble, but withholding information from a police officer _is_ a crime."

_I don't want to get arrested._

_Maybe it's okay to tell the police about this._

Greg raised his eyes to the sergeant's. "I, uh, heard that it wasn't any of the students at Winslow at all," he reported dully. "That her father's into some shady stuff, and this was a warning to him to stay out of their business."

Garbutt blinked.

* * *

"You're _shitting_ me," exclaimed Dana McAllister. "Fucking _organised crime?_ How does _that_ fit into this?"

Garbutt shrugged. "I have zero fucking idea," he replied. "But I asked him, and the best he could tell me was that a cape told him in absolute secrecy. A hero, too. But he wouldn't tell me who."

McAllister frowned. "Think he's making the whole thing up?"

Garbutt shook his head. "Doesn't make sense. He believes it. Kid's got enough tells that a blind man would know when he's lying. If it's a line of bull, then someone fed him a line of bull, and that someone's a cape, or someone he thought was a cape."

"This is getting to be more than a simple homicide," muttered McAllister. "Did you at least get a read on Clements and Morrow from him?"

He nodded. "He didn't want to say much, apart from 'they didn't do it', but he did say he used to get mad about them playing tricks on her, quote unquote."

McAllister leaned back in her chair. "Okay, so now we have what? A teenage girl forced into her locker with a mess of crap, dies from toxic shock syndrome. This Veder kid tells her father that the Clements girl and her friend were bullying her. They say they were her best friends. And now Veder's telling us that they had nothing to do with her death, and that her dad is involved with organised crime."

Garbutt rubbed his jaw. "Hm. I got a pal in Vice; I'll look to see if this Dock Workers' Association has anything on it."

McAllister nodded. "Probably nothing, but we have to check it out. Also, drop a line to the PRT, ask them if they're doing any investigating on that front. Think you'd be able to get a name out of the Veder kid if you pushed him?"

A shake of the head. "He clammed up pretty fast when I tried. He just insists that the bullying had nothing to do with it."

"Still, my gut says it does. Follow the cape angle. I'll keep on with the interviews."

Garbutt threw her a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

She wrinkled her nose. "Get outta here."

He got.

* * *

Taylor Hebert … drifted.

She didn't know where she was at any one moment. She felt … stretched. Wispy. As if she were about to disintegrate at any moment.

But she was almost fully conscious now; for the last twenty-four hours, she had gradually been emerging from a fog of unawareness. Sometimes she had been more lucid than normal; sometimes, less so.

Once, she had seen her father. Spoken to him. He had answered. But she had been slipping away even then, and had not been able to answer his impassioned pleas.

Another time, she had seen Sophia, or at least she had believed it to be Sophia. She had moved the same way. But the wind had swept her away again.

She was beginning to be able to exert more control on what she was, now. Gradually, she was starting to make out where she was, here and there. Brockton Bay landmarks made themselves known to her. She could focus her attention here and there; sometimes, it was easy, but sometimes it was very difficult indeed.

With consciousness came memory. She feared that she would never recall the last day or more in any great detail, but it was what had come before that she recalled vividly.

The school.

The locker.

The stinking mess.

The shove.

The locker closing.

The thrashing to be free.

The feeling of lassitude.

The sensation of her mind leaving her body.

_I died,_ she told herself. _I died in that locker._

Taylor and Danny had never been particularly religious, and she had trouble parsing the concept of life after death.

_Am I a ghost?_

But she didn't seem to be composed of _anything,_ non-corporeal or not. Her consciousness seemed to drift from place to place, but there were limits and boundaries.

And then it clicked; the metaphorical lightbulb came on.

_I didn't realise that my eyesight is terrible, _she told herself. _I'm used to having bad eyesight. But my hearing isn't much better, and my hearing's always been pretty good._

_I'm seeing and hearing through the eyes and ears of …_

Suddenly, she realised exactly why, wherever her mind went, she had seen bugs flying and crawling around her viewpount.

_Bugs._

* * *

Taylor Hebert's body was dead. But her mind, in the moments before death, had shifted into the Swarm. As it moved around the city, each individual bug mind supporting a minute fraction of the consciousness of Taylor Hebert, she gradually began to exert control over it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, it began to move with purpose. With intent.

_Okay, what do I do now?_

* * *

End of Part 4


	5. Chapter 5

**Aftermath**

* * *

Part Five: Masters and Strangers

* * *

**Tuesday Afternoon**

* * *

Karen Bright had been a receptionist at the Brockton Bay PRT building for three years now, and she'd thought that she had seen it all. Visiting heroes, apprehended villains, new capes, people who _thought _they were new capes. Even crazies who wanted to rail against the 'evil' that parahuman powers brought into the world.

That last one made her snort; she'd seen parahumans band together to fight Endbringers and natural disasters alike. She had a good job, here, as a direct result of the parahuman presence in Brockton Bay. _Evil, indeed._

But she had to admit, the guy who had just approached her desk brought the weirdness to a whole new level.

"Okay, sir," she responded, in her most soothing 'keep the crazy guy happy' voice, while she nudged the floor-button to alert the guards to the fact that something was up, "can you please take it from the top? You want to talk to a parahuman expert, because you want to know if it's possible for someone to die, get powers, and become a ghost?"

The guy was tall, skinny, and wore glasses. He also hadn't changed clothes, combed his hair, or shaved in the last day or two.

"Not a ghost," he insisted. "I don't believe in ghosts. But my daughter _died,_ and last night I heard her voice. Talking to me. And I want to know if it's possible for powers to do that."

"Well," she hedged, "it's quite possible for powers to make someone hear voices at a distance -"

"After they're dead?" he interrupted.

"Sometimes people with powers can use them to fake their deaths really well … " she began.

"No!" he shouted, bringing his fist down on the counter. "She's _dead!_ I saw her _body!_ She _died_ in pain, in terror, in filth, and I -"

Karen saw a PRT guard approach the guy from behind; the others were standing off, one with a foam dispenser deployed, ready for possible action. "Sir," the one guard snapped. "Please step away from the counter and turn around."

Taking a deep breath, the guy did as he was told, stepping back and turning around.

Karen dropped the shutter and took a step back herself from the counter. As was normal with all PRT employees, she had undergone the lengthy induction process, which included being sprayed with containment foam. It was harmless, but mildly unpleasant; she had no intention of having that happen to her again.

"Sir," the guard told the skinny man, "you need to calm down. Now."

The skinny guy took in all four guards, in various poses of readiness, and sighed.

"Please," he told the guard. "You need to take me to someone who can tell me about powers."

His voice was calm, measured, matter-of-fact, but there was an undertone to it that bypassed Karen's cognitive centres and went straight to her hindbrain. _The guard needs to take him to someone who can tell him about powers._

The PRT guard nodded. "Yes, sir," he agreed. "I can do that." He turned to the other three guards. "Just taking this guy upstairs to see the science boys. Cover for me."

They headed for the elevators; Karen pulled up a window and typed in the code that would give the guard access to the right floor. The guy had to see someone who could tell him about powers, after all.

The elevator doors closed behind the guard, and the guy he was escorting. Karen raised the shutter once more and went back to her regular duties.

* * *

_I need to see Dad._

She couldn't find him.

He wasn't at home, although she did find a mess. Bug eyesight was woeful, but she was getting better at understanding where every member of the Swarm was, and building topographical pictures out of that. A broken chair, the busted TV, and a jar of tomato sauce that had apparently been hurled at the wall. The flies loved that, and she let them swarm all over it. But she forbade them from laying eggs; this was her _house,_ after all.

It was too late for him to be at work, but the car wasn't in the driveway.

_Could he be at a friend's place?_

Slowly, painfully, she pulled up a memory of Dad's friends. Kurt and Lacey. Alexander. Others … Gerry, the Irishman.

But she didn't know where they _lived._

It was ironic; with her growing control over the Swarm, she could shift her consciousness to almost anywhere in the city in moments. All she had to do was congregate enough bugs in that area to give her lucidity. But she didn't know where to send them.

_I have to do something. Leave him a message. Let him know that I'm really alive._

But bugs could not manipulate anything as unwieldy as a pen or a pencil. She had a computer, upstairs, but even if she managed to get it turned on and a word file opened, she would then have to type out the message, and then somehow get him to read it.

And then she realised that the solution was staring her in the face. _So to speak._

The tomato paste had dried somewhat, but beetles managed to worry small chunks loose and carry them to a piece of paper on the table. She couldn't read what was on it, but the red tomato paste would show up clearly. The bugs deposited the crumbs of paste on the paper, then deliberately stepped on them, squashing them down. Making a line. Making a curve. More lines. More curves.

It was quite exhausting, focusing her attention so closely for so long, but she kept at it.

_I have to let him know. Make him understand._

* * *

"You have to understand, sir, that the science of parahuman studies has not advanced a great deal since the days of Vikare," the man in the lab coat told him. His badge read CORBEN. "Given the huge variety of powers -"

"But you've got the power classification system, don't you?" Danny interrupted.

"We do, sir," Corben agreed. "But that doesn't tell us _why_ people get powers, only _how, _and even then, it only tends toward a vague set of guidelines."

"How about powers themselves? How they work?" asked Danny, frustrated.

Corben shrugged. "We have a large body of knowledge, but the vast majority of it is based on theory and speculation. Quite literally, no two powersets are identical, unless the people triggered at the same time and place, and have some sort of close association. As for the case you posited; yes, it's been known for people to apparently die when they get powers. Some capes are able to form what look like ghosts. Some are able to speak at a distance, without being seen. Some can even create duplicates of their own bodies. All of that together, is it possible?" He took a deep breath. "Yes, sir, it's possible. Is it plausible, or even likely?" He shrugged. "I have no idea."

Danny's shoulders slumped. "So, after all that ... your best answer is that you don't know."

Corben nodded. "Without being able to get a first-hand look at the situation … well, yes." He paused, grimacing. "Uh, if I can say something without sounding too insensitive, sir … ?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. Something about possibly imagining the whole thing?"

A hesitation, then Corben nodded. "Uh, basically, sir. The human mind can play all sorts of tricks on us, especially if we're grieving."

Danny gritted his teeth. "I. Know." He did not enlighten the man, but the travails he had gone through after losing Anne-Rose … he'd nearly lost Taylor then, through sheer neglect. They had drifted so far apart. But he'd thought that they were mending things, coming back together.

And now ... _this._

He took off his glasses and swiped at his eyes. "Okay, I'm done here. Can you show me how to get back to the lobby?"

"At once, sir," the PRT guard told him. He led the way back toward the elevator. "I hope you learned what you needed to, sir." He paused. "Excuse me a moment, please, sir."

"Sure," Danny replied, stopping. He could hear the man mumbling inside his helmet, but the fully enclosed helmet didn't let him hear what was being said.

The PRT building was certainly busy, he noted. People moving here and there, phones ringing, conversations going on all around. He was actually a little surprised that the guard had been so obliging as to bring him up to this floor and let him talk to Corben.

The guard turned to look at him, or at least turned that reflective grey face-plate in his direction. "Uh, sir, who was your authorisation from again, sir? I'm afraid I've forgotten."

Danny frowned. "Authorisation? I just asked you to let me talk to someone who knows about powers."

The guard nodded. "Ah, of course. Thank you, sir." He went back to mumbling. And then, to Danny's consternation, he pulled the sidearm from his holster and pointed it directly at Danny. "Sir, please kneel on the ground with your hands behind your head. Do not speak, or I will shoot. I have been reliably informed that you do not hold any authorisation or clearance."

Danny opened his mouth to protest; the guard waved the pistol. "Do _not_ speak, sir."

Wisely, Danny shut his mouth, and knelt on the carpeted floor. At the same time, sirens erupted, blaring so loudly that even if he had wanted to speak, no-one could possibly have heard him. As ordered, he clasped his hands behind his neck.

_What the hell is going on?_

* * *

**Tuesday Evening**

* * *

Piggot viewed the image of the man on the screen. There was, for obvious reasons, no sound.

"_This_ is our Master?" she asked doubtfully. He hadn't even been wearing a costume, just rumpled clothing.

"This is him," acknowledged Major Travis. "When Captain Kelly noticed Fielding was out of position, he radioed the man to inquire of his location. Kelly was on the tenth floor, escorting this man back to the elevators." He flipped open a wallet he held in his hand. "ID has him as Daniel Hebert. We don't have a file on him."

"And he had no authorisation to be on that floor?" Piggot pressed.

"None whatsoever," Travis verified. "We've debriefed Fielding; he says that the man was causing a scene with our receptionist, and Fielding approached him. The man then asked to be allowed to speak to someone about how powers work, and Fielding thought that was a perfectly reasonable request. So he took the man upstairs. The guy asked Corben a whole string of questions about his dead daughter -"

The Director slapped her forehead. "Dead daughter? Dammit, of course. That Hebert guy, he's the father of the girl who died at Winslow yesterday."

Travis blinked. "Yeah. Now I remember. Damn, poor guy. Anyway, he just wanted to know about powers, if his daughter could really have triggered as a cape after she died. Because apparently he's been hearing her voice."

Piggot sighed. "Poor bastard might've been better off seeing a priest." She dragged her mind back to the current situation. "But how does this explain his ability to talk his way in to see Corben? That floor is restricted. The work Corben _does_ is classified."

Travis shrugged. "Master power. Anecdotal evidence indicates it's got a strong vocal component. Earshot only."

Piggot shivered. "Christ. Another Nice Guy."

Travis shook his head. "Not so much. We're not sure about the strength of the compulsion; Fielding _did_ hold him at gunpoint, once ordered to do so. And he never told anyone to do anything strictly against their well-being. He just asked them to tell him stuff he wanted to know. The guy's obviously distraught."

A frown. "Think he might have triggered over this? His daughter's death?"

"It would make a lot of sense." Travis scratched his chin. "Though there's one impression that I _am_ getting, which might complicate things quite a bit."

"What, _apart_ from prosecuting the guy whose daughter was killed in a school prank?" asked Piggot sarcastically. "What might that be, pray tell?"

Travis looked back at the screen, at the skinny man sitting listlessly in the cell. "I don't think he knows he's a Master."

Piggot stared at the screen as well. "Well, fuck."

* * *

**Tuesday Night**

* * *

Space Opera was the _shit._

Greg was enjoying the hell out of it. The tips and tricks and cheat codes that he'd downloaded simply made it all the more fun. As he worked his way through the levels, he found himself getting into it in a way that he'd never been able to in that last game.

And then the hand went around his mouth from behind. _Again._

He froze, hoping that he wasn't about to wet himself.

"Greg," hissed the familiar voice, right next to his ear. "Do not make a noise. Nod if you understand me."

He nodded spasmodically.

"I need you to meet me outside," whispered Shadow Stalker. "We need to discuss matters. Ten minutes. Do you understand?"

He nodded again. The hand disappeared from around his mouth. He waited a long moment, then looked around.

There was no-one in the room, of course. The curtains were moving very slightly, as though a breeze had touched them.

_Holy shit. I'm going to meet Shadow Stalker. She thinks I'm cool enough to discuss matters with. Holy shit._

All of a sudden, Space Opera seemed to be a lot less important.

Getting up from his chair, he stretched, elaborately casually, even though there was no-one else in the room to see him. He strolled downstairs, pretending nonchalance, while his heart hammered at a thousand miles a minute.

His parents were watching TV, while his younger sister burbled in her playpen. They didn't seem to notice him. _Stealth check, successful._ All he had to do was ease into the kitchen, then out the back door -

"Greg." It was his father's voice.

He jumped violently at that. Had his parents been actually looking at him, they might have decided something was suspicious.

"Wh-what?" he stammered.

"You're goin' to the kitchen, get me a beer, huh?"

"I – uh – yeah – sure, Dad." he agreed. Hurrying into the kitchen, he opened the fridge and found a cold beer. Going back into the living room, he handed it to his father. "Here you go, Dad."

"Thanks, son."

"No worries, Dad." Greg strolled nonchalantly back into the kitchen; he unlocked the back door and eased it open. Stepping outside, he carefully pulled it shut again.

* * *

Shadow Stalker waited impatiently in the darkness, watching the back door of the Veder household. _All I need to do is find out from Greg what he's said online and to the cops. If he's spread enough confusion, and hasn't mentioned me on the boards, then I can take care of him. He's a loose end. And played right, as a __**dead **__loose end, he'll serve my purposes._

She didn't even think twice about her willingness to murder an innocent boy to protect her own hide. The equation was simple; if others had to die for her to live, then so be it. If he wasn't strong or smart enough to see her coming or protect himself against her, then it was his own stupid fault.

After all, she'd already killed before. Even if it _was_ by accident.

The door opened, and he slipped out. She straightened slightly from her position in the shadow of the hedge, and beckoned. He walked straight toward her, trustingly, stupidly.

_A lamb to the slaughter._

* * *

End of Part Five


	6. Chapter 6

**Aftermath**

* * *

Part Six: Answering Questions

* * *

**Tuesday Night**

* * *

"I'm here," Greg whispered, joining Sophia in the shadows. "What do you want to know?"

For an answer, she grabbed him by the wrist, twisting it back, forcing him to his knees with a pained grunt. "I need to know what you've been saying," she hissed. "To the cops, and online. Because _someone's _been spilling the beans, and the case might fall apart."

"Wasn't me," he blurted.

Sophia brought her masked face very close to his wide eyes. "Tell me _everything_ you've told people about what's going on," she gritted. "Who have you told, what have you told them, and what names have you mentioned?"

He gulped. "The cops, they asked me, I didn't mean to, I told them what you told me about Mr Hebert and his ties to organised crime."

She tightened her grip a little; he whimpered from the pain. "Names," she snapped. "Did you mention names?"

"Whose names?" he asked desperately. "Taylor's? Her father? Sure."

"_Mine,_ you idiot," she hissed. "Did you mention my name in connection to this?"

Despite the pain, he blinked in confusion. "Uh, why are you worried about your name?"

She twisted a little harder. "Because I'm not supposed to be working this case," she told him, essentially honestly. "If my bosses find out, I could get in trouble." Definitely true, though he didn't know _how_true. "But I can't let this go by. So I have to try to find out who did it." A total lie, though she was pretty sure he wouldn't pick it up. _Time to go back on the attack. _"So, have you mentioned my name at all?"

He shook his head. "Not to the cops. I just told them what you told me. I'm sorry, they got it out of me."

_Just as I expected them to. Excellent._ "And online?"

He blinked, frowning. "I, uh, don't remember."

She gritted her teeth. "Focus. Do you at least remember which forums you've been on since last night?"

Urgently, he nodded. "Y-yeah."

"Then go back upstairs," she ordered him. "I'll be with you in a moment."

She released him; he scuttled back toward the door. With a sigh; she moved around until she had a view of his bedroom window. _This is getting far too complicated._

But it was her only chance of sorting out this mess, once and for all.

_Fucking Hebert. It's all her fault._

* * *

_Poor Taylor. It's all my fault._

Danny Hebert sat slumped in the cell, staring at the floor. He wasn't even sure why they'd locked him in there; there'd been the siren, and the soldier pointing the gun at his head, and then other PRT soldiers had come, and the first thing _they_ had done was put a bag over his head. He hadn't been able to see or hear anything; at first, he'd been worried about being able to breathe, but somehow that seemed to work out.

He'd been more or less forced to walk blindly where his captors directed him, which in the end had turned out to be this cell. They had left the bag on his head; at first, he had thought he had to keep it on, but in the end he had taken it off, and found himself alone. He had been too dispirited even to call out, to ask what he'd done.

They had left him his watch, at least; that was a small mercy. Of course, it made him acutely aware of the passage of time. _Around about now, I'd be sitting down to dinner with Taylor -_

He broke the thought off, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. He would never sit down to dinner with Taylor, ever again. Because she was _dead._

_But she came back to me. Somehow. And I tried to find out how that might be, and now I'm in here. And she's out there somewhere. What if she gets lost, wherever she is, because she can't find me?_

A lump arose in his throat, and he had to jam his fingers into his mouth, and bite quite hard on them, to prevent the tears from coming.

_It's all my fault, Taylor. I failed you._

The speaker in the corner of the cell crackled to life, startling him quite badly. _"Mr Hebert, can you hear me? Please nod if you can."_

Wildly, he looked around for the camera, but he couldn't locate it. Finally, he settled for looking straight ahead and nodding. "I can hear you," he confirmed out loud.

"_Good. Now, do you know why you're in here?"_

He shrugged elaborately. "No. I just asked some questions, is all. About my daughter. Is it a crime to ask questions now?"

There was a pause, before the voice returned. _"Please speak more slowly, Mr Hebert. Your voice is being digitally translated into text before we can answer you."_

Danny frowned. _What the hell is going on here? _"I _said,"_ he enunciated carefully, "I just asked some questions. About my daughter. How is that a crime?"

"_Ah. Yes, well. It wasn't a crime to ask those questions," _the voice answered. _"However, it __**was**__ a breach of regulations for you to be in that section of the building, asking that man those questions. That was a secure area, and you had no business being there."_

"I just wanted to talk to _someone,"_ Danny protested. "It was your guy who took me there. He didn't say anything about it being a secure area."

"_We know that too," _the voice replied. _"He took you there because you asked him to."_

"But that's what I _said,"_ he responded, puzzled. "I asked to see someone who knew about powers, so he took me there. I didn't know he was taking me to a secure area." Slowly, his brain began to catch up with the situation. _Why are they translating my voice into text?_

There was a sigh over the voice link. _"Mr Hebert, you're misunderstanding me. He took you there, despite it being a secure area, __**because**__ you __**asked**__ him to."_

There was a pause, a slight scuffling sound, then another voice broke in. _"Mr Hebert, you're a parahuman. You have powers. You used your power, knowingly or not, to coerce the guard into breaking regulations quite thoroughly. That's why you're in that cell. We need to figure out what to do with you."_

Danny blinked. " … oh." All of a sudden, the strange events of the afternoon – the guard becoming so cooperative, then later pointing a gun at his head, the incarceration, even the admission that they were digitising his speech – it all fell into place, like a giant jigsaw puzzle. "Oh. Why didn't you tell me in the first place?"

"_Because __**some**__ people,"_ the second voice informed him tartly, _"prefer to dance around the subject for fear of alarming other people. Now, you seem to be a fairly straightforward man. Did you know you had powers?"_

"No!" Danny protested. "I had no idea!"

"_Hm,"_ the voice replied. _"Did you know you were breaking the law, going up to that floor?"_

"I told you, no, I didn't," Danny replied. "If I'd known … well, I might not have gone."

"_If you'd known that it was illegal, but that you were guaranteed to get information about your daughter?" _the voice asked gently.

Danny breathed deeply. "She's my _daughter,"_ he answered, in a wretched voice.

"_I don't have children of my own, but I think I understand."_ The voice was still relatively gentle. _"But you understand that you did break the law."_

"Yes, but I didn't _mean_ to!"

"_Yes, I get that, sir. However. Even if we do take that into account – and I'm not saying we won't – there is the other matter. The fact that you're a parahuman who can make people do things, just by telling them to. A Master."_

Danny felt a chill going down his spine. "What are you going to do? Can you lock someone up just for having powers?"

* * *

_Oh, if only that were the case,_ Director Piggot thought, as she read the text streaming across the monitor. _Not you, but __**some**__ of the parahumans out there …_

"No, sir," she told him. "But we will be investigating your home to make sure that you haven't used this power in other illicit ways. Once we're certain of that, then we can release you with a caution."

On the screen, he raised his head, searching again for the camera. He actually came quite close this time, looking only a little off to the side. Carefully, she did not watch his lips, just in case there was a visual component to his Master ability.

INVESTIGATE MY HOME? DON'T YOU NEED A WARRANT FOR THAT?

"Mr Hebert, you've already committed a crime," she reminded him. "This gives us probable cause. Personally, I don't believe that you've done anything of the sort, but in a case like this, we have to cross our T's and dot our I's, just to make sure we've covered all the bases."

He clenched his fists. PLEASE DON'T TAKE ANYTHING OF TAYLOR'S. PLEASE.

The glowing letters on the screen seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the spoken words behind them.

"Relax, Mr Hebert," she assured him. "They will only look for things that indicate that you've used your powers in illegal ways. In fact, I'm expecting their call-back any moment now."

* * *

The front door lock clicked open, and the two men stepped inside. Rogers, leading the way with the pocket flashlight, pocketed the keys that had been taken from Danny Hebert and found the light switch. The front hall lit up, illuminating the stairs and throwing light through the archway into the living room.

"We'll clear the ground floor first," he told his fellow PRT investigator, a burly man by the name of Kelly. "Then we'll do the basement. Upstairs last." As he spoke, he clicked off the flashlight, slid it into his pocket, and pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket.

Kelly nodded. As Rogers headed down the passageway alongside the stairs, he went into the living room, turning on the light there as he went. When he saw what was there, he whistled involuntarily.

"What is it?" Rogers called out.

"Busted TV. Someone threw a remote into it." Kelly pulled out his phone and took a picture. "My guess is, he was a bit distraught."

"Well, wouldn't you be?" Rogers leaned in through the door leading to the kitchen. "He busted a chair, and threw a bottle of tomato paste at the wall." He pulled his head back; muted clicks indicated that he, too, was taking pictures.

Kelly tilted his head. "I wouldn't call this signs of a struggle, would you?"

"Nope," Rogers agreed. "Just one man, venting. Really, really venting."

"Well," commented Kelly after a sweep of the living room, "I can't see anything valuable; no packaging, no handfuls of jewellery, nothing big and expensive and new."

"TV?" asked Rogers, coming on through.

"Nah," Kelly told him. "Three years old. I've got a better one." He brushed a fly off his cheek. "Lot of bugs around here."

"Are you surprised?" Rogers commented. "Big splash of tomato paste on the wall, in there. Bugs all over it."

"Point," conceded Kelly. "So, you want to split up, or do the basement together?"

"Ooh, is diddums scared of the dark?" teased Rogers.

Kelly slugged him on the arm. "Asshole."

Rogers chuckled, and led the way to the basement stairs. Bare bulbs illuminated the space below; it was reasonably spartan. Washer, dryer, workbench. They went over it quickly; the only interesting thing was what Kelly surmised to be a blocked-off coal chute. Rogers pulled a multi-tool from his pocket, and they had the cover off in less than a minute. The only thing it held was spiders and spiderwebs.

* * *

"Well, that was a whole lot of nothing," Kelly commented, as they climbed the stairs again.

Rogers flicked the switch to turn out the lights. "Still gotta look," he pointed out. "That way, we can say we have." He waved a swarm of insects away from his face. "Is it me, or are there more bugs around here than before?"

Kelly had to admit, he had a point. "Maybe they're here for the smorgasbord," he grunted, pointing at the splash of tomato paste.

"Yeah, probably," Rogers agreed, and led the way through the front hall to the foot of the stairs.

There was a light switch at the top of the stairs and he flicked that on, too. "Bathroom," he directed Kelly. "I'll take her bedroom. We both take his, because if he's hiding anything, that's where it'll be."

* * *

It was very hard to tell what time it was, apart from the fact that it had been getting darker. Bug eyes had a hard time making out exactly which was the hour hand and which the minute hand, and where they were in relation to the numbers.

In addition, writing via tiny spots of tomato paste on a sheet of paper was extremely time-consuming, and required a lot of concentration; it was not something that bugs normally did, particularly with any accuracy, so she had to work at it. So it was no surprise that Taylor had lost track of time.

When the light came on, she was momentarily startled; at first, she thought that her father had come home. But neither of the men who began moving through the house was him, or at least, she didn't think so. When they spoke, she couldn't really pick out what they were saying, but it didn't sound like his voice. Neither of them was as tall as him, as far as she could gauge with bug senses. She did land a fly on the face of the taller one, giving a rough measurement of his height; he wasn't as tall as her father.

_What are they here for?_

It was something she pondered over, while moving more of the everpresent Swarm into the house. When they emerged from the basement, she had a bunch of bugs ready to try to listen to what they were saying.

… _they're here for the … _She couldn't make out that word.

… _eah, probably._

_Bathroom. … take her bedroom. We both … his, because if he's ...ding anything, that's … it'll be._

That was when she began to get angry.

_Who are these men? Why are they searching Dad's house? __**My**__ house._

* * *

Tossing the bathroom didn't take long; nothing in the laundry hamper, nothing in the cabinet. The tub installation didn't reveal any loose panels or tiles. Kelly left the bathroom and went to where Rogers was still going through the kid's bedroom. He waved away several insects as he leaned in through the door.

"Find anything yet?"

"Nothing obviously stolen," Rogers told him, looking up from where he was sitting on the bed, "but check this out."

Kelly entered the room and looked down at the sheaf of papers in Rogers' hand. "What's that?"

"Kind of a diary, I guess," Rogers replied absently. "But not really. She was being bullied, and she was writing it down."

"Holy shit," Kelly told him. "The police love that sort of thing. That's pure gold. How the hell haven't they come here and snapped it up already?"

Rogers shrugged. "Manpower, I guess, or lack thereof. Plus, school the size of Winslow, there'd be about a thousand suspects. Interviewing those first?"

"What do we do with it? We're not here to investigate _that_ crime."

Rogers considered for a moment. "We take it with us, and drop it off at the station. But we get pictures of every page first. Just in case."

"I'll do that," Kelly told him. "You go ahead and check his room."

He took the sheaf from Rogers, and took out his phone once more. Carefully, taking his time, he began to photograph each page in turn.

About six pages in, he found himself having to brush bugs off the paper before taking the photo; ten pages in, they were landing on the page faster than he could shoo them away. He looked around, more and more bugs were swarming into the room, through the open window and through the door, every second. They were starting to land on him, too. He wasn't particularly scared of insects, but this was starting to concern him.

"Rogers?" he called out. "Is it just me, or is there a metric ton of bugs in this house?"

"It's not just you," Rogers told him; he appeared in the doorway, and he had bugs all over him. "I think we need to go, now."

"I think you're right."

Kelly turned to pick up the papers, and paused; they were literally covered with bugs, swarming and crawling on the bedspread. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he spotted wasps, hornets and black widows in the mass of bugs.

"Okay … " he muttered. "The papers stay."

"What was that?" asked Rogers.

"I think I might know what's going on here," Kelly told him.

"Well, what?"

"Let's get out of here first," Kelly advised. "We're not welcome."

* * *

"See?" Greg insisted. "That's my chat log for both these sites. I didn't mention you by name even once."

Sophia nodded. "So you didn't."

"So yeah," he went on, as if continuing a conversation, "I was thinking of having some sort of memorial at school for Taylor. What do you think of these photos of her?"

He opened a folder on his computer, and clicked on the files within; they opened to show several pictures of Taylor, most of them culled from the backgrounds of other pictures. "She was always nice to me," he mused. "Never made fun, not like anyone else."

Sophia blinked as a brilliant idea formed out of nowhere, just like that. She had come prepared to dispose of him as a loose end, but he'd just handed her the key to deflecting attention from her.

"That's a wonderful idea," she purred, her masked face right next to his ear. He gulped as she slid an arm around in front of him, across his chest. "You're a really sensitive guy, you know that?"

With her free hand, she pulled a sturdy plastic bag from a pouch on her belt, and shook it open.

* * *

Greg was sweating bullets; Shadow Stalker was literally _cuddling up to him._ Well, at least, hugging him. Hugging with one arm was still hugging, right?

_I can't wait to tell the guys about this._

_Oh, wait, I forgot to tell her about the private chat log._

"Wait -" he began, just as the plastic bag went over his head.

For a moment, he was stunned; he literally could not figure out what was going on. He was looking through thick plastic, and he couldn't breathe. Instinctively, he tried to lift his arms to pull the bag off his head, but she was pinning his arms to his chest with her own arm, preventing him from moving.

He tried to take a deep breath, to call his parents, to call for help, to protest at all. But there was no deep breath to be had. No air.

He struggled again, uselessly, but she was too strong.

_Why is she doing this? Why is she killing me?_

Blackness came before he had the answer to his question.

* * *

Taylor watched them retreat, leaving the papers on the bed. She hadn't realised what they were at first, but then she had puzzled it out, via the eyesight of several bugs at once. Once she had it figured out, she was shocked; were they going to take the papers? That was not going to happen, if she could help it.

Swarming them was relatively easy; she didn't want to hurt them, in case they were actually innocent, so she didn't do anything permanent to them. She watched them go, shutting the front door behind them, but she didn't relax her vigilance until they were driving down the road.

Once they were gone, of course, she realised that she should have shown them her handiwork. Made them see it. Made them realise that she was alive.

_I'll just have to wait until Dad gets back._

* * *

The phone rang once; Emily picked it up. "Director Piggot speaking."

"_Director, this is Rogers; you sent Kelly and me to Daniel Hebert's house?"_

"I remember, yes," she replied. "Did you find anything of note?"

"_Nothing that implicates him in any crimes,"_ Rogers told her. _"But something really weird happened there, and Kelly thinks he knows what's going on."_

Piggot leaned back in her chair. "So tell me," she invited him.

* * *

Shadow Stalker paused, on her way out of the room. She had posed Greg artistically, the plastic bag still over his head, in an arrangement which seemed to indicate that he was attempting autoerotic asphyxia. One hand was at the opening of the bag, the other in the appropriate position for such a pose. Prominently displayed on his computer screen were the pictures of Taylor, along with images which she had downloaded, depicting skinny brunettes wearing not much at all.

He was, of course, quite dead. She had waited for several minutes after he had stopped moving, just in case. When he was found, inside his locked bedroom, in such a compromising position, the chances were that his parents would do their best to cover it up.

She looked over her handiwork one more time, then turned ghostly and passed through the window, which she had also thoughtfully closed and locked.

_Hopefully, that's one less loose end to worry about._

One shadow among many, she flitted across the rooftops on the way back home.

* * *

End of Part Six


	7. Chapter 7

**Aftermath**

* * *

Part Seven: Pieces of the Puzzle

* * *

**Tuesday Night**

* * *

"You have _got_ to be kidding," Emily Piggot stated flatly. "What are the odds of that sort of thing happening?"

"_Don't ask me, ma'am," _Kelly replied. _"But it fits all the available facts."_

And he was right; it did. More than that, she had heard of stranger things happening. Had seen a few of them with her own eyes.

"Very well," she decided. "Get back here as soon as you can. If Taylor Hebert has really moved her mind into a swarm of bugs, we need to figure out how to get in contact with her before things start going south." _Or neutralise her, if necessary, _she didn't say out loud.

"_What about the photos?"_ asked Rogers over the phone. _"Those bugs thought the notes were pretty damn important."_

"Unless they were written after she died and ended up inhabiting a swarm of bugs, I don't think they're relevant to the case at hand," she replied. "Keep them, but they're secondary right now. Report to me once you get back; I want to hear every detail."

"_On the way, ma'am,"_ he replied. The line went dead; she put the phone down.

Then she picked it up again, and tapped in a number.

"_Ready room, Captain Wills speaking."_

"This is Director Piggot. I need half a dozen men, ready to move out in ten minutes or less."

"_Can do, ma'am. What's the situation?"_

"I need them to go to a house in the suburbs and cordon it off. No-one enters. And Wills?"

"_Yes, ma'am?"_

"All men are to be fully covered at all times. They will breathe filtered air only. Refreshment and rest breaks are to be taken off site. Do you understand?"

"_Message received and understood, ma'am."_

"Good. I'm texting you the address now. Piggot out."

She hung up the desk phone, picked up her mobile, and typed in the address of the Hebert house. A few button-taps later, and she had sent it on to Wills' phone. Dropping the mobile back on her desk, she leaned back and sighed. _Okay, what now?_

With another sigh, she pushed herself to her feet. _Time to go tell Daniel Hebert that his daughter's alive. Sort of._

* * *

"_Mr Hebert."_

Danny looked up from his contemplation of the floor tiles. "Hello?"

"_It's the Director, Mr Hebert. Sorry about taking so long to get back to you."_

"To be honest, I thought you'd forgotten me for the night."

"_Not yet, Mr Hebert."_ There was a pause. _"We may have some news about your daughter."_

Danny frowned. "You mean, whoever killed her?"

"_No, sir. About Taylor herself. I don't want to raise your hopes too far, but you may not have been imagining things after all. Taylor may still be around, after a fashion."_

He sat up straight, eyes opening wide behind his glasses. "What – she got powers and turned into a ghost?"

"_Not … precisely."_ The Director's voice seemed to hint at compassion. _"Powers, yes. Ghost, no. We suspect she may have moved her mind into a swarm of insects as a form of escape, and then her body died, leaving her stranded there."_

Danny frowned, trying to get his head around the concept. "That … is that even _possible?"_

"_I honestly don't know, sir. But my men encountered something at your house that may or may not bear that theory out. I'm waiting for them to get back, so I can debrief them properly."_

"I … thank you for telling me this."

"_Normally I would not do so,"_ she informed him. _"But in this particular circumstance, I believe you deserve the courtesy. However, you do need to keep in mind that they may be in error, or that the situation may not be stable."_

"What do you mean, not stable?"

"_I mean that she may not be able to maintain the link to the insects. She may die anyway."_

"But she may not."

"_As you say, sir, she may not. I will keep you posted."_

"Thank you, Director."

"_It's the least I can do. Good night, Mr Hebert."_

"Good night," he replied, aware that she probably wasn't listening any more.

A meal had been delivered earlier, but he hadn't felt like eating. Now, he did. It was bland fare, but he didn't notice. All he could think of was, _Taylor might be alive._

_My daughter might still be alive._

It was only a faint thread of hope, but it was all he had.

* * *

**Wednesday Morning**

* * *

Dana McAllister eyed the manila envelope on her desk. On it was scrawled the name HEBERT. Her brow furrowing slightly, she picked it up, opened the flap, and slid the contents out on to her desk. This turned out to be a stack of A4 paper, held together with a paperclip, with a cover sheet on top.

The cover sheet was written in a hand that she recognised; Jameson, one of the night crew. She'd shared coffee with him a few times.

* * *

_Dana,_

_This stuff got emailed to us by the PRT after you went home. They said it's from the house of the kid who died at Winslow, Taylor Hebert. You're handling that investigation, right?_

_Anyway, this stuff looks interesting. Have fun kicking ass._

_Rick_

* * *

She eyed the cover sheet while sipping her coffee. When Rick said 'interesting', he meant that life was going to get interesting for some lowlife or other. _But if this was mailed in by the PRT … what the hell were they doing at the Hebert house?_ She'd been meaning to send someone over to look the place over for anything related to the death, but it was something that kept on getting put on the back burner. _Well, now it's on the front burner._

Flipping the cover sheet over, she looked at the next page, and the pages after. There were nine of them, looking like photocopies of someone's handwritten notes. _No, not photo__**copies**__, _she corrected herself after seeing the bugs scattered in the image of the last sheet, _photo__**graphs**_.

The handwriting was consistent from one page to the next, and the notes were dated. The first date was September eight, two thousand ten. _Beginning of school, last year._ The following dates were consecutive, skipping only the weekends.

Having made her initial observations, she began to read the actual notes.

* * *

_**Six vicious emails, Sophia pushed me down the stairs when I was near the bottom, making me drop my books, tripped and shoved me no less than three times during gym, and threw my clothes at me while I was in the shower after gym class had ended, getting them wet.**_

* * *

She stopped reading, and stared at the photos. _Is this Taylor Hebert? Did __**she**__ write this?_

Making sure to keep them in order, she turned them over one at a time. Spot-reading here and there told a grim story; whoever had written this was laying out a tale of sustained and horrific bullying, far and away worse than anything Dana had ever had to endure.

Pushing back on her roller chair, she got up and wandered over to where Farrel was standing by his desk with a coffee cup in hand. "This stuff landed on my desk this morning," she began. "Know anything about it?"

He stretched and yawned, and took a drink of coffee before replying. "Yeah, night crew told me about it. Said it might be helpful with your case. Why?"

"Have a look," she told him grimly, and handed the sheets over.

He put his coffee down and started reading. After a moment, he hooked his chair out with one foot, sat down, and put the sheets under his desk lamp. "Holy fuck," he muttered. "Holy crap on a stick." As she looked over his shoulder, he continued to skim through the sheets, whistling almost soundlessly through his teeth.

"Yeah, all of that," she agreed. "I want you to send a unit over to the Hebert house right the hell now, and see if the original is still on site. Get in touch with Danny Hebert, too, see if he knows anything about it. Have someone call the PRT and find out how they gained entry, and why they entered in the first place, and see if they removed these notes from the premises. If they did, I want them back, right the fuck now, with a solid chain of custody, so it'll hold up in court. And don't let those bastards stonewall you; don't stop asking questions till you get answers you like."

"Yes, _ma'am,"_ he replied with alacrity, and reached for his phone.

"In the meantime," she went on, picking up the sheaf, "I'm going to be looking through these to see who I should be pulling back in for interviews."

"Might want to get that Veder kid back in to start with," he suggested, rummaging through the orderly disorder on his desk in search of (she presumed) the number for the PRT police liaison officer.

About to head back to her own desk, she paused. "Why?" she asked. "I haven't seen his name on here. Did I miss something?"

He glanced up at her and shook his head. "No, but he's the one who pointed out Madison Clements and Julia Morrow, and they're both in there. It might be an idea to get his read on this stuff."

She nodded once, noting the wisdom of his suggestion. "Yeah, I'll do just that," she agreed. "Good call there, Joe."

"Hey, it's why they pay me the big bucks," he responded, straight-faced. She snorted, and headed back to her desk.

* * *

Khalia Veder was just putting the baby back into her crib when the phone rang; she hurried to answer it. "Veder household, Khalia speaking."

"_This is Detective McAllister. You may recall that we spoke at the station yesterday, when you brought your son in to be interviewed?"_

Khalia nodded, although the policewoman couldn't see her. "Yes, Detective, I remember you. What can I do for you?" She paused. "Did you want to speak with Gregory again?"

"_Actually, yes, I would like that, Mrs Veder," _the detective told her.

"Is – is he in trouble?" asked Khalia. "He's a good boy. He wouldn't hurt anyone."

"_No, no trouble," _Detective McAllister assured her. _"Some new evidence has come to light, which bears out a statement he made. We would like his opinion on it."_

Khalia blinked. "Oh, uh, of course," she replied. "I'll go and get him at once." She frowned. "Actually, that's a little odd."

"_What is?"_

"He hasn't come down for breakfast yet." She shrugged. "I'll go and move him along, the lazy slug."

"_If you could call me back when you're ready to bring him in, that would be good," _the policewoman told her.

Khalia smiled. "I can certainly do that, Detective. Talk to you soon."

She put the phone down and trotted up the stairs. Pausing outside her son's door, she listened. There was no snoring, which meant that he wasn't asleep. She rolled her eyes. _Probably playing one of those silly computer games all night._ It wouldn't be the first time he'd done _that_.

"Gregory!" she called out, rapping loudly on the door. "Come on, turn that computer off! I need to take you down to the police station! They need to ask you some more questions!"

She paused, waiting. There was no response. _He probably has his headphones in._ Also not a first, for her son.

She rapped again, trying to get his attention through sheer volume, although she had to give up with sore knuckles after a few moments.

"Gregory!" she called out once more.

No answer.

She tried the handle. The door was locked.

This was getting beyond a joke. Bustling back downstairs, she located the spare house keys. _Gregory, you will be feeling the rough edge of my tongue when I get that door open, _she promised silently.

The correct key fitted the lock, and she turned it; the lock clicked open. This time, the handle turned easily. The door opened.

Khalia stepped into the room, observing the still-made bed – _of course, he hasn't slept all night –_ before she fully took in the figure slumped backward in the computer chair, head hanging back, fingers tangled in the plastic bag -

Her screams reverberated throughout the house, and woke the baby.

* * *

Dana showed her badge to the cop at the door, and entered the house. Mrs Veder was sitting on the sofa with her baby daughter's crib beside her; she was a wreck, continually sniffling and wiping at her eyes, even while she was trying to calm the infant down.

Her husband sat beside her, looking even more shattered than his wife, if that was possible. He was blank-faced, stunned. Police officers were already trying to get statements from them, but she guessed it was hard going at the moment.

Mounting the stairs, she pulled on a pair of disposable booties and entered the kid's bedroom. It was a teenage boy's room, all right; posters covered the walls, an indiscriminate mix of capes, rock bands and female movie stars. A camera flash went off as she entered, and she blinked, bringing her hand up to shield her eyes.

"Oh, sorry." The forensics tech lowered his camera, frowning. "Did they tell you about it already, Dana?"

"Tell me about what?" she asked, hanging back so as not to get in his way. "I just got clued in by the nine-one-one operator. She said the mother mentioned my name."

"Oh, so you were talking to this kid already?"

"Yeah. He's a potential witness, Bill. _Was_ a potential witness."

"Well, fuck," muttered the tech. "That's a kick in the teeth. Reason we were going to give you a call was this." He beckoned, and she made her way to his side.

She watched as he moved the mouse, and the computer woke up. The screen cleared, and she blinked at the pictures thus portrayed. "Wow, where'd the kid get _that_ stuff?"

Bill looked at her. "The porn, or the pictures of Taylor Hebert?"

Dana rolled her eyes. "I know that any teenage kid can get porn off the net these days. It's the other stuff that I'm concerned about. Was he stalking her?"

"Not that I can see," Bill ventured. "Far as I can tell, these are cropped from photos taken around the school. He might have had a crush, but he wasn't following her with a camera."

Dana stared at the pictures on the screen. "So he was, uh, admiring Taylor, and had other pictures downloaded of girls who resembled her, and went too far with the auto-asphyxia?"

Bill shrugged. "Seems that way."

Dana rubbed her chin. "Something's off about this."

"Such as?"

She pointed at the images on the screen. "Skinny brunettes, right?"

Bill nodded. "Same as the Hebert girl."

Dana turned and pointed at the posters on the wall. "New Wave. Glory Girl. January Jones. Scarlett Johanssen. Christina Aguilera. Britney Spears. What do they have in common?"

The tech turned and looked, then looked back at the screen. Slowly, his eyes travelled back to the posters. "Blondes. All of them."

"Damn right. And not a one of them skinny. Now, do you think it's likely he developed that much of a fetish for Taylor that he starts doing this _after_ she died?"

Bill's voice was thoughtful. "So this just went from possible accidental suicide to probable homicide."

Dana nodded, then frowned. "Where'd he get the bag from?"

"Huh?"

"That's a large zip-lock bag," she noted. "It's pretty thick. Could he even see the screen through it? You might want to ask the parents if there's any other bags like it in the house."

Bill nodded. "Okay, will do."

Dana turned to leave the room, only to find her way blocked. A large man, taller and wider than she was, and looking at her with not a little disfavour. "McAllister. What are you doing tramping all over my crime scene?"

"Camden." She gestured to the corpse in the chair. "That's one of my witnesses in the Hebert case. Got himself dead, and I don't think it was an accident. Bill can bring you up to speed."

"Murder?" Camden frowned. "But the door was locked from the inside."

"Or someone had a key," she pointed out. "Or, you know, powers."

He grimaced. "Powers. I _hate_ powers. They're a _bitch_ to prove. And then the PRT grabs the case and takes the credit."

"Shit happens," she pointed out. "Now, I gotta get going. But can I get any updates, if they apply to my case?"

Camden frowned, but she knew he wouldn't be that much of an asshole. He just liked to pretend to be one.

"Sure," he grunted. "Now get out of here before you totally wreck my crime scene."

"Going," she responded, and headed out of the room.

_Greg Veder is dead,_ she mused, _but before he died, he mentioned organised crime, as well as two names. Madison Clements and Julia Morrow._

Don Garbutt, she knew, would still be looking into the Vice angle. So that left her clear to check out some other things.

* * *

The door to the cell opened, startling Danny. He looked up from the breakfast he was eating – just as bland as the evening meal – to see two guards standing there.

"Mr Hebert," one of them greeted him. "You're being released, by order of the Director. Come with us, please."

"Oh, uh, sure," he mumbled. Setting the tray aside, he stood up and followed them.

With one in front and one behind, he was escorted through the PRT building until he reached the Director's office. She observed him keenly. "Mr Hebert."

"Uh, Director Piggot," he responded weakly. "You're just letting me go?"

She nodded. "If you so wish."

"I … if I wish? Why would I not wish to?" His voice was puzzled.

"Because if we simply release you, you will be barred from entering your home," she replied, almost gently. Turning her computer monitor, she showed him the scene; PRT trucks parked next to the house, with barricades set up around it. There were several cameras, and the screen was split several ways to accommodate them all. One was showing a close-up of one of the windows; there were bugs crawling all over the inside of it.

"I … I don't get it," he mumbled, shaking his head.

She took a deep breath. "Sir, whether or not it is your daughter inhabiting that swarm, it has set itself up in your house, and is growing larger by the hour. We're having to block part of the street off for the safety of the public. If it gets much larger, we _will _have to take measures."

"And what can I do?" he asked. "I'm no expert in this sort of thing. And I'd be surprised if my power worked on bugs."

"No," she told him, "but you know your daughter. If this swarm is sapient, if it really is your daughter, then you should be able to communicate with it … with her."

He pointed at the screen. "So you're saying … that … that's Taylor?"

"I _hope_ it's Taylor," Piggot stated flatly. "Because if it isn't, we may have a very serious problem on our hands." She looked at Danny. "Sir, you're our best hope for talking to Taylor. Talking her down. Will you help us?"

"It's likely to be dangerous, isn't it?" His voice was quiet.

She nodded. "Quite possibly, yes. We'll have capes on scene, to minimise the danger, but there will be a certain level of unavoidable risk. It hasn't actually attacked anyone -" _yet_ " - so we think you'll be reasonably safe, even if it isn't actually Taylor." _Or if it's not her any more._

Despite his internal doubts, Danny knew that there was only one answer he could give. Straightening his shoulders, and squaring what jaw he had, he nodded curtly. "I'll do it." _For Taylor, I'll do it._

From the glint in Piggot's eye, he was fairly sure she'd picked up on what he hadn't said. "Thank you, Mr Hebert."

* * *

Dana was halfway back to the precinct when her phone rang. She tapped it to hands-free. "McAllister."

"_It's Farrel. The uniforms I sent over to the Hebert place hit a snag."_

"What sort of a snag?"

"_The PRT's there, in force. They've got the house barricaded off. No-one's getting in."_

"Did they say why?"

"_They stated, and I quote, 'parahuman-related biological hazard'."_

"What the hell does that even _mean?"_

She could imagine him rolling his eyes. _"Search me. But they say the order came straight from the Director. And get this. The place is crawling with bugs."_

"Bugs? What the hell do bugs have to do with this?"

"_No idea. Unless that's the biohazard they mentioned."_

"Is it just me, or is this a giant coincidence?"

"_You ask me, nothing that happens with capes in this town's a coincidence. It's all a giant conspiracy."_

"Yeah, yeah. Look, tell your guys to hang around. If they get the chance, they're to get in there and get that document. But only if the place is declared clear first. I don't want them risking their lives for some papers."

"_Got it. And I'll keep pushing for details. Right now, they're trying to give me the runaround, but I figure I can weasel something out of them sooner or later."_

"How about Hebert himself?"

"_He's not answering the house phone, and there's not a mobile listed to his name."_

"Dammit!" She bounced the heel of her hand off of the steering wheel. "Okay, keep at them. The PRT's involved in this somehow, but I'm not going to let them queer my case."

"_Will do."_ The line went dead.

Dana McAllister drove on. There were still the notes she had been given; until something broke, they were her best lead. And she intended to follow them as hard as she could.

* * *

"So what's going on?"

"Oh, hi." Clockblocker looked up as he fitted his body armour into place. "You got called in too?"

"Yeah. No information though. Just told to get here ASAP."

"Yeah, that happens," the white-clad hero agreed. "Word is, there's a big swarm of bugs around the house belonging to this guy called Danny Hebert. We're going there, along with Aegis and Armsmaster, to escort him into the house and see if he can't calm the swarm down."

"Calm the swarm down." The words were flat.

Clockblocker shrugged. "'S'what I heard. And once that's done, we're going to be escorting some cops in so they can search for some evidence. Hebert's daughter got killed the other day, and apparently she left some notes behind about bullying. The cops want that, because apparently it names everyone who was bullying her."

"Isn't that interesting." Shadow Stalker fitted her mask into place. "Well, let's not keep them waiting."

* * *

End of Part Seven


	8. Chapter 8

**Aftermath**

* * *

Part Eight: Looking for Trouble

* * *

**Wednesday, January 5, 2011**

**Outside the Hebert Residence**

* * *

"Okay, raise your arms, please, sir."

Obediently, Danny lifted his arms. The officers attending him were in the process of placing a protective vest on him when her voiced a question. "Just out of curiosity, what will this actually do for me?"

The officers stopped and looked at him.

"It's a _protective vest,"_ explained the one – his name tag read ROGERS – in a patient tone. "It'll stop a knife, and maybe a bullet - "

" … so why am I putting one on, here?" asked Danny, indicating the swarm. It was by now not only covering his house in its entirety, but filling the yard and spilling over on to the street and two other yards in the process. The combined humming and buzzing was quite audible where they were standing, fifty yards away.

"Regulations, sir," the other one put in, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Now if you'll just -"

"_No,"_ Danny snapped, and they both stopped as though frozen in place. Immediately, he became aware of three different guns pointed at him. He raised his hands. "Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to do that. But we're going to be facing _bugs._ What the hell use is a bullet-proof vest going to be?"

"Stand down," Armsmaster ordered, and the guns were lowered. He stepped up alongside Danny. "Your point is valid. You won't be facing bullets or knives in there; we can still give you the protective clothing if you wish."

Danny shook his head. "No. I'll go in as I am. Either Taylor knows me, and listens to me, or … she doesn't."

* * *

Armsmaster didn't know what to do in this situation. The man was obviously resigned to his fate. If whatever was controlling those bugs, causing them to swarm, was indeed his daughter, then he was in no danger. If it was not her, or had been her but was no longer sapient or even sentient, then he stood a very good chance of being stung or suffocated to death.

_If she's dead, he doesn't want to live._

Awkwardly, he put his armoured gauntlet on Hebert's shoulder and squeezed slightly. "I understand, sir." He didn't, not really, but it was something that someone in a movie might say, so he said it.

Hebert didn't answer; to break the silence, Armsmaster turned toward the other Protectorate capes on scene. "There'll be four of us going in to support you, as well as the two police officers. I've adjusted my armour so that nothing can get to me without passing through a very fine filter. Aegis, Shadow Stalker and Clockblocker will be accompanying us; Clockblocker's costume is full-body, Shadow Stalker can go to shadow form in an instant, and Aegis is in little danger from a swarm of bugs."

Hebert looked at Aegis a little curiously. _Good, he's paying attention._ "I … I can see how the others are protected, but how do you … ?"

Aegis smiled. "My powers are all about adaptation and adjustment, sir. Also, I can fly. If I get stung, my body adapts to the venom almost at once. If they get in my eyes, I can see by light hitting my skin, or echo-location."

"And if they get in your mouth?" asked Hebert.

"Then I'll breathe through my ears," Aegis informed him. Armsmaster was not surprised; he had heard of the boy pulling that stunt once before. Clockblocker seemed to think it was funny; at least, he sniggered when it was mentioned. Armsmaster wasn't sure why.

Hebert drew himself up to his not inconsiderable height. "All the same, I want to thank you. All of you. You really don't have to go in there with me, I know. So I appreciate it."

Aegis nodded and held out his hand. "You're welcome, sir. And may I say, you're a braver man than me. I know _I _wouldn't want to walk in there without powers or protective clothing."

Hebert shook it. "I can't _not_ do it," he stated simply.

While Hebert spoke to Aegis, Armsmaster turned to the other two Wards. "Clockblocker, Daniel Hebert is your responsibility," he warned the boy seriously. "If it's looking like the swarm's not listening to him, then be ready to freeze him. If that happens, we'll bring in containment foam, cover him, then carry him out of the swarm that way."

"And me?" asked Shadow Stalker.

"You can't protect anyone, but you can scout," Armsmaster told her. "Look around the house, see if there's a nexus for the swarm, where they're particularly concentrated. If we have to destroy the swarm, any information you gather could be particularly valuable. But don't risk yourself; if they look like attacking you, go to shadow."

She nodded. "So, we got a layout of the house? So I know where to look?"

He nodded and pointed at a folding table with several sheets of paper on it. "Not enough time to jump through all the hoops to get the official blueprints out of storage, but Hebert's a fairly good freehand artist. Basement, first floor, second floor."

"Got it," she told him, and wandered over to examine the drawings. Armsmaster saw one finger lower itself to the drawings, tap on the paper. She was obviously thinking, deciding where to check out first. He decided not to bother her, instead re-checking his halberd.

Along with his armour, he had adjusted it for this mission; the EMP would now blast out a localised electrical discharge, frying any bug within six feet of him. It would feel strange to a person, but the police – who would be wearing protective clothing – would be unharmed. One shot wouldn't drain the power supply, but nor was it unlimited. He would accompany one officer, while Aegis stayed with the other; in the case of emergency, the Ward was to fly them both out of the building.

Of course, if Hebert managed to get the swarm to calm down and disperse, all of this planning would be immaterial. But he preferred to make plans as if every single one would be carried out in full. _Better to have a plan and not need it, than to need a plan and not have it._

Collapsing the halberd once more, he stowed it on his back. All he needed now was the green light to go in.

* * *

**Winslow High School**

* * *

"Please take a seat."

Emma Barnes pulled out the chair and sat down; she eyed the policewoman warily. "Am I going to need a lawyer here?"

"Not unless you believe that you're being accused of a crime," Dana McAllister replied easily. "Right now, this is just a follow-up interview, to go over some things we may have missed before."

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but Emma felt uncomfortable, as if there were a trap looming that she could not see. She shifted in her seat, and glanced at the school counsellor. The grey-haired lady nodded encouragingly. "I'm sure it's nothing, dear."

"Maybe I should call my dad," Emma ventured.

Detective McAllister shrugged slightly. "Be my guest. But in the time it takes for him to get here, I'll be interviewing someone else. So you'll be waiting."

She seemed nonchalant about it; almost _too_ nonchalant. _I think she's trying to bluff me into not calling him. _"I think I _will_ call him," Emma decided. She stood up from the chair and moved to the door of the meeting room. "Who do you want me to send in?"

McAllister consulted her notes. "Sophia Hess, please."

Emma froze for a moment. _Sophia's off being a Ward._ "Oh, uh, I don't think she came in today," she temporised. "She might be sick." _Call someone else in._

McAllister frowned. "I didn't get notified of that by the principal's office." She looked up at Emma. "Go, call your father. I'll still be here when he arrives."

The dismissal was obvious; Emma exited the room and closed the door. Pulling out her phone, she dialled; the number she called was not her father's.

* * *

**Outside the Hebert Residence**

* * *

Shadow Stalker looked down as her personal phone trilled. She hooked it out of the pouch, and had just enough time to see that it was from Emma before a shadow fell over her. Swiftly cancelling the call, she glanced up to see Armsmaster.

"That wasn't a PRT phone," he observed.

_Well, no shit, Halbeard._ "No, I carry a private phone."

His lips tightened behind the fine-weave mesh designed to stop bugs getting into his helmet. "Now is not the time to be taking private calls, Shadow Stalker. Turn it off or turn it over."

"But -"

"We're about to enter a highly dangerous environment where _any_ distraction could prove fatal," he snapped. "The phone gets turned off, or you give it to me. Now."

Reluctantly, she nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll turn it off." She waited, but he didn't move; she pressed the button to turn the phone all the way off. He continued to watch as the phone shut down, and as she stowed it back into the pouch.

Then he leaned close. "If that had gone off inside the house, Mr Hebert could be dead right now. Do you want that on your head?"

She waited a few seconds, until she realised that the question was not rhetorical. "Uh, no, I don't."

He nodded. "Don't turn that phone on again until we're done here. That's a direct order."

_Fuck._ Violating a direct order wouldn't breach her probation, but it wouldn't do her any favours, either. _Now I'm gonna have to wait to find out what Emma wants._ "Sir," she replied.

"Good." He moved off, but she didn't dare pull the phone out again. For someone as blind to social cues as Armsmaster was, he was damn good at noticing things like that.

_Come on, let's get this over with._

* * *

**Winslow High School**

* * *

"_Sophia? No, she's not sick. She went to school the same as usual, this morning."_

"Thank you, Mrs Hess," Dana replied. "Do you know of any place that she might be, that I could contact her at?"

"_I'm not sure. She has a friend, Emma someone?"_

Despite the fact that the other woman could not see her, Dana shook her head. "I just spoke to Emma here, at school. If Sophia's away, Emma's not with her."

"_Hmm."_ Sophia's mother sounded concerned. _"She may be seeing her social worker. She does that some days."_

"Social worker? Okay. Got a number?" That was interesting; the notes from the Hess interview didn't mention a social worker.

"_There's one around here somewhere … ahh, here it is." _She read it out. Dana scribbled it down. _"I hope that helps."_

"I'm sure it will. Thank you very much for your time, Mrs Hess."

"_Not at all."_ In the background, Dana could hear a crying infant. _"I'm sorry; I have to go."_

"Have a good day." Dana put the phone down, then picked it up again, and dialled the number that she had been given. While it was ringing, she idly clicked through some files on her laptop. A folder caught her eye; _Winslow Photos._

That was the set of pictures she had gotten, and gone through fruitlessly to find if any of Taylor's alleged friends were with her in them. She clicked it open again, and started looking through them once more, an unformed suspicion driving her.

One photo almost leaped off the screen at her; a photo of Emma Barnes and Madison Clements congratulating Sophia Hess on getting the one hundred yard prize at a school track meet. _Emma. Madison. Sophia._ All three names were very prominent in Taylor Hebert's bullying diary.

As the phone continued to ring, she flicked through more photos, looking for the same three faces. Again and again, she found them together. More than could be attributed to simple coincidence. _Those three are friends. Just not with Taylor Hebert._

"_Hello, Sara Foster speaking."_ The voice on the other end of the phone was female, youngish, somewhat frazzled.

"Hello. This is Detective Dana McAllister of the BBPD. Am I speaking to Sophia Hess' social worker?"

"_I … yes, I'm her social worker. What's this about?"_ Dana thought she detected suspicion and wariness in the other woman's tone.

"I need to get in touch with her. You may have heard about the murder at her school?"

"_Yes. It was a terrible thing. You don't think that Sophia's got anything do do with that, do you?"_

"I don't know anything yet, Sara." Dana took a breath. "But some evidence has come up that's potentially implicated her, and I'd like to re-interview her on the matter -"

"_You're wasting your time, Detective."_ The tone was flat. _"Sophia had nothing to do with it."_

Dana blinked. "I … you sound very certain. What makes you so sure?"

"_Take it from me. Sophia is the very last person in the world to do something like this."_

"Sara, listen to me. I have a stack of notes here that directly accuses Sophia and her friends of orchestrating a vicious and ongoing bullying campaign against Taylor Hebert, since at least September of last year. If they would do this, then -"

"_It's faked."_

Dana was taken aback. "You haven't even _seen_ this. How can you know such a thing?"

"_Because Sophia wouldn't do it. Trust me, I know."_

"For God's sake, _how_ do you know it?" demanded Dana McAllister.

There was a long silence. _"I'm not at liberty to discuss that."_

Dana frowned. "You're acting like she's a secret agent or something."

"_Detective, if you pursue this, you _**_will _**_be putting Sophia's life in danger. More to the point, you _**_will_**_ be breaking the law."_

Dana took a deep breath. "Sara, I _am_ a police officer. The law has already been broken. A girl is _already dead._ Sophia Hess _is _a suspect. You have yet to give me anything concrete to say that she isn't."

In the back of her mind, she was turning over what the 'social worker' had already told her. _Dollars to doughnuts, she's no damn social worker. She's more than that. But she's responsible for Sophia in some way, and now she's trying to cover her ass as hard as possible._

_What could Sophia be mixed up in that warrants this sort of protection from above?_

Sara's voice interrupted her train of thought. _"This conversation is over." _The phone went dead.

Dana stared at it. "What the _hell?"_

People didn't hang up on police officers. It just wasn't done. Or rather, doing it was a dead-certain way of drawing _more_ attention down on themselves. So why would Sara, whoever she really was, have risked such a thing? _And what's Sophia mixed up in?_

Carefully, methodically, she began to note down the conversation with the 'social worker', in as much detail as she could recall. This would have to be followed up on; once she got back to the station, she would have that number traced and hopefully located.

Before she was finished, her phone rang again. For a moment, she thought it might be Sara, ringing back with more obscure admonitions. But it was Lieutenant Fahey, from the precinct. _There must be a break in the case._

Thumbing the 'answer' button, she held the phone to her ear. "McAllister."

"_Detective. I have a message for you."_

"Shoot."

"_You are to cease investigating … what was the name … Sophia Hess … immediately. Whatever the case is, she's not a part of it."_

Dana's jaw dropped. _"What?_ Sir, all my evidence suggests otherwise!"

"_Nevertheless, the captain just passed the word on. Hands off Sophia Hess."_

"But _why?"_

"_Not my department, Detective. Captain's orders." _He paused. _"A written copy of that order has been emailed to your phone."_

Dana heard the ping in her ear that told her the email had arrived. "Sir, just do me one favour?"

His voice was cautious. _"That depends."_

"Could you ask the captain where this order originated? I'd like to know who's shutting us down like this. Because I just got off the phone with a so-called social worker who gave me the same spiel without providing a single goddamn reason why I should believe her."

He paused. _"I can try. Can't promise anything. But if I get a verifiable answer, you'll drop Sophia Hess as a suspect. That's an order."_

"Understood, sir. And thanks."

"_Don't thank me yet, McAllister."_ The phone went dead.

Dana laid it down on the desk and started going through the notes. She used a yellow highlighter to colour in Sophia's incidents, a pink one for Emma, and a green one for Madison. She was halfway through the second page when the phone rang once more. It was Fahey again. She snatched it up.

"Lieutenant?"

"_Detective. I just spoke to the captain. He said it was the Deputy Director of the PRT. Sophia Hess is, and I quote, a person of interest in an ongoing investigation. __**Now**__ can you drop it?"_

"But why would the PRT be investigating a high school student? It doesn't make sense."

"_I did you your favour. You have your orders."_

"Sir." She ended the call, and sat there for a long moment, thinking hard. Then she turned to the laptop and opened a browser page. Another long moment passed, then she typed in _Brockton Bay Wards_ and clicked the 'Image' tab.

The laptop processed her input, then flicked up a list of responses. She clicked on the second one, a recent publicity picture of the Wards ENE, as they were officially known. There was the leader, Aegis._Where's Triumph? Oh, wait, he went on to the Protectorate._ The irreverent Clockblocker, with clock-faces crawling over his costume. Gallant, in his metallic armour with the highlights. Kid Win, twirling a raygun of some sort on one finger. Vista, shorter than everyone, younger, for all that she'd been in the Wards longer than everyone except Aegis. And the last one, the most recent recruit. Dark clad, edgy, carrying twin crossbows. Her very mask a scowl of disapproval. Dark skin showing here and there. Long black hair, spilling out from under the hood.

_Shadow Stalker._

She pulled up the photo of Sophia accepting the prize, looked back at the image of Shadow Stalker. They could definitely be the same person.

_They _**_are_**_ the same person._

It was not so much a realisation as a sudden flash of intuition, a leap in the dark. But she _knew_, with a cold certainty, that it was true. It _had_ to be. It was the only thing that fit all the facts.

_Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker. I'm sure of it._

_Which doesn't _**_prove_**_ that she did it. But the things Taylor wrote down; she's prone to be more physical than the others. Shoving Taylor into the locker, if any of those three did it, it would be her._

_And she's being protected by the PRT. They probably don't know she did it – at least I _**_hope_**_ they don't know – but they're covering up for her so that her cape identity doesn't come out into the open._

_So if Sophia Hess has dropped off the face of the earth … where's _**_Shadow Stalker_**_ right now?_

She was pretty sure that if she called up the PRT again, she would not get a straight answer. The 'social worker' using the name Sara Foster had probably called the Deputy Director and put a flea in his ear, thus precipitating the call to the captain. _Her superior outranks my superior._

_I'm not finished with this yet. I just have to figure out how to attack it._

While she was considering that, she picked up her phone and dialled a number from memory.

* * *

**Hebert Residence**

* * *

Taylor Hebert had discovered an interesting fact. The more bugs she gathered to herself, the more clearly she could think. And so, right at that moment, she was pulling as many bugs into the house and surrounding area as she could possibly manage. She couldn't feel them as individual entities; they were part of the Swarm, each of them contributing a tiny bit of itself to house her consciousness.

_I'm not losing myself,_ she decided. _I'm all here. I can remember my childhood, and what Dad and I had for Christmas dinner._

She had also detected her father; he was down the block just a little way; however, there were people with him, people in uniforms. Her senses were still fairly basic, so she couldn't determine much past 'uniforms', but they were official in some way.

_Are they the police? Has Dad gotten into trouble somehow because of me?_

_The men who came here last night, did he send them?_

She began to wonder if she had been a little precipitate in chasing them away. But on the upside, she had managed to finish her note to her father. _He'll know it's me. He'll know I'm alive._

* * *

**Brockton Bay Central Precinct**

* * *

"Homicide, Don Garbutt speaking."

"_Don, this is Dana."_

Don leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on an open desk drawer. "Detective. What can I do for you?"

"_Actually, I was wondering how you were going with Organised Crime and Daniel Hebert."_

Don snorted. "That's done with. I asked them about Hebert and the Dock Workers, and they assured me that they weren't running any operations there, because the man's as pure as the driven snow."

"_You're certain of this."_

"Absolutely. Some of the Dock Workers have been known to take jobs with villains, but there's not even a whiff of kickbacks to make sure this happens. About the only tie to criminal activity is his wife; she was a follower of Lustrum in college. And that was maybe twenty years ago, and his wife died two years ago."

"_So, nothing."_

"Zip, zero and nada."

She paused. _"Okay, what's the progress of getting those notes from the Hebert house?"_

"Currently? PRT's setting up some sort of operation to go in. They've got Hebert, plus our men, and they're sending them into the place with protective gear on. Also, some capes from the Protectorate and Wards are going along to protect them."

"_Why Hebert?"_

"Hell if I know. Or even where he's been over the last twelve hours."

There was a long pause from her end. _"Don, what capes are on site there?"_

Garbutt frowned and glanced at his notes. "Uh, Armsmaster, Aegis, Clockblocker and Shadow Stalker, looks like."

"_Christ, so that's where she is."_

"What?" He brought his boots to the floor with a _thump._ "Why are you so interested in Shadow Stalker all of a sudden?"

"_I can't tell you, Don. Not right now. In fact, we never had this conversation."_

Garbutt frowned. McAllister was a pain in the ass sometimes, but mostly she was a straight shooter. This sort of double-talk was not what she usually did. "What's going on?"

"_Not something I can talk about. But do me a favour?"_

"Uh, I guess. If you're allowed to tell me what it is."

He could almost hear her rolling her eyes. _"Smartass. Get hold of the email that the PRT sent us with those sheets, and forward it to the Director of the PRT, with a covering note that the 'Sophia' mentioned is Sophia Hess, and that she's a suspect in a murder case. See what shakes out."_

"I … okay, sure, I can do that. But why? It's not like the PRT investigates homicide cases."

"_Just do it, okay, Don? Thanks, I've got to go." _Her voice was jerky, like she was running.

"Wait -"

But it was too late; she had ended the call. With a sigh, he turned to his computer, and started running down the email address for the Director of the PRT. _Not sure what McAllister thinks she'll get out of this, but hey, she wants me to do it._

* * *

**Outside the Hebert Residence**

* * *

Armsmaster raised his voice. "All right, everyone! We have the green light to proceed. There are troops on all sides of the house with insecticide sprayers; if you find yourself being swarmed, run toward them. We all have been issued with individual cans; only use them if you feel that you are _personally _under threat. We're going to try to do this the easy way _first, _to give Mr Hebert the chance to talk to the swarm. Only if that _fails_ do we try the other way. Does anyone _not_ understand this?"

No-one raised an objection, although everyone except Hebert himself was clutching at least one canister of the concentrated insecticide that had been supplied for this mission. Armsmaster nodded in satisfaction; turning to Danny, he gestured toward the house. "Okay, sir," he added quietly. "Let's go talk to your daughter."

* * *

**Winslow High School**

* * *

With her briefcase in one hand and laptop case in the other, Dana McAllister took the steps outside of Winslow two at a time. Once she finished the call with Don and was able to put the phone in her pocket, she was able to swap the laptop to her other hand and run faster, but it was still too slow for her.

Reaching her car, she fought to catch her breath while she dug her keys out of her pocket. The central locking _pip-pipped_ open, and she climbed into the vehicle, tossing the cases on to the passenger seat. She stabbed the key into the ignition; the engine started on the first try. Seconds later, she was peeling out of the parking lot.

Even as she drove, she was connecting the dots at an alarming rate. Pieces of the puzzle which she had thought to be totally unconnected were fitting together in new and unexpected ways.

_Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker. She's been bullying Taylor Hebert for at least four months, maybe more, with the help of Emma Barnes and Madison Clements._

It occurred to her that murder had not been Hess' intention, but no matter the _intent, _Taylor Hebert was still dead. _We'll let the courts work that one out._

_Taylor dies. No witnesses willing to talk, so Hess thinks she's free and clear. Until the Veder boy approaches Danny Hebert. Someone saw them talking, maybe Hess herself. She could have gone to him that night, as Shadow Stalker, found out what he said. Fed him the line about organised crime. He _**_said_**_ it was a cape who told him that._

It made sense. She changed lanes, whipped around a slower car, and accelerated again.

_Someone put a plastic bag over Veder's head and suffocated him. No signs of struggle, so it must have been someone he trusted, someone who could leave him in a locked room. Shadow Stalker would fit that profile. He gave us the information she wanted him to give, then she killed him in a way that should have been passed off as a stupid accident. If it wasn't for the posters …_

She paused to think about Shadow Stalker. The girl was a bully; a violent one at that. She had joined the Wards in October; she had been a vigilante for a year and a bit before that. _Wasn't there some report regarding her, about excessive force? I'd have to check that._

It was a long-standing trope that putting on a mask allowed people to express themselves in ways they normally repressed; if Hess was a bully _normally,_ what was she like in costume?

_We need to see if Hess has access to zip-lock bags like that. Evidence bags, right. Okay. So, she goes to Winslow. The 'social worker' was her contact with the PRT. Some sort of liaison?_

_So now we're sending people into the Hebert house, where Taylor left her notes. Shadow Stalker is going in as well, along with Taylor's father. If he reads the notes, and she does too, she'll realise they implicate her, and that he's seen them. Which means that he's in danger from Shadow Stalker, unless I can get there in time._

She considered calling ahead. _But what do I say? That Shadow Stalker might try to murder Danny Hebert, just like she did his daughter? How do I even do that, without outing her secret identity? I know PRT personnel have the area closed off, but I don't have a contact number. I'm better off talking to someone in person._

Her hands clenched on the steering wheel. The speedometer was showing numbers somewhat in excess of the limit. _I just hope I'm in time._

* * *

End of Part Eight


	9. Chapter 9

**Aftermath**

* * *

Part Nine: All Together Now

* * *

**Danny**

* * *

Armsmaster raised his voice slightly. "You've got your orders. Move in."

He started toward the house, and the swarm surrounding it, at a steady pace. Danny felt momentary irritation – _I'm not under _**_your_**_ orders – _but then he shook it off and followed, with the two police officers and the three Wards flanking him. PRT soldiers in full-coverage gear were already fanned out around the house, outside the periphery of the swarm, each one carrying a heavy spray-gun, fed by oversized canisters on their backs. In contrast, the only equipment Danny had on him was a headset with throat microphone.

As they neared the swarm, Danny studied it, although he didn't really know what he was looking for. Taylor's face, he supposed, outlined in the buzzing, humming insects. There was nothing like that, but it seemed to him that the buzzing reached a higher pitch as he got closer. Bugs broke away from the main mass, surrounded him. He flinched slightly, then controlled himself.

"Taylor." His voice was loud in his own ears. "Taylor, is that you?"

There was no answer, although they did land on him. There were bugs on his shoulders, his chest, his face – he flinched again as one crawled near to his eye and on to his glasses – his arms and his legs. One alighted on top of his head, near his bald spot. He stopped moving, so as to concentrate on what the bugs were doing.

Armsmaster stopped also, as did the Wards and the policemen. He was vaguely aware of them watching him, or perhaps just staring at the crazy man who talked to bugs. A heavy scarab beetle droned around him; he held out his hand, palm up, and it landed heavily. He could feel its legs scratching at his skin. It turned to look at him; he brought up his hand to his face and peered at it. Tiny facets of light reflected off of its dark beetle eyes.

"Sir," Armsmaster addressed him, "are you all right?"

He nodded. "Yes, I am." He gestured with the hand that held the heavy beetle. "I think she knows we're here. That I'm here. That it's all right to go in."

"If you say so, sir." Armsmaster started forward again; Danny followed. He had Shadow Stalker to his left and Aegis to his right, with Clockblocker at his back. Clockblocker had a police officer on either side of him, each one wearing what amounted to a biohazard suit. They had to be sweltering in those things.

The swarm rose before them like a living wall of buzzing chitin, flashing back and forth in a manner almost certain to send cold shivers down the backbone of any rational human being.

**_Almost _**_certain, _Danny told himself. _Or maybe I'm just no longer rational enough to fear insects, even in a swarm of this size._

Armsmaster was inside the swarm by now, bugs swirling around him, crawling over nearly every inch of his armour. They weren't _attacking_ him, but they certainly weren't giving him the almost-friendly reception that Danny had gotten.

Taking a deep breath, Danny stepped into the swarm as well, crossed the almost-physical dividing line between clear air and buzzing insects. And the swarm parted before him; the humming and buzzing was almost a physical thing, but he walked in a bubble devoid of flying bugs.

* * *

**Sophia**

* * *

_This is all kinds of bullshit._

Shadow Stalker did not want to be here. Hebert shouldn't have died in the locker – _that _**_wimp!_** – but even if she did, she had no _business_ leaving behind any sorts of notes implicating Sophia in whatever happened to her. She should have just kept her head down, taken her medicine like the weakling she was, and not made waves.

But she hadn't. She'd kept notes, apparently. _Maybe she was planning to give them to Blackwell, or the cops._ Sophia couldn't decide whether Hebert dying was a good thing or not; she was pretty sure that between them and Emma's dad, they'd be able to laugh off anything the snivelling little queef wrote about them. But the idea of Hebert having the _gall_ to even plan to do something like that … it made her grit her teeth.

_Whatever. I'm here now._ She stuck close to Hebert's dad, not because she wanted to – _weak chin, weak eyes, weak man –_ but because she wanted to keep inside the no-fly zone that somehow existed around him. Behind him, Clockblocker and the police officers were similarly staying close. _Wimps. The bugs can't even get to them._ On the other side, Aegis was half out of the bubble; the bugs that landed and crawled on him didn't seem to bother him.

_I get into the house, I go upstairs to the room, I get those damn notes, and I destroy them. The cops can turn the place upside down after that for all I care. They won't be there._

Earlier, Armsmaster had briefed them on the theory that Taylor Hebert was somehow alive in the swarm. That there was a chance that she was still conscious and aware, in the mass of bugs surrounding her family home. Sophia found that idea to be disturbing in the extreme, and so she did her best to discount it.

_Her dad's a Master. Maybe he's doing it. _Or maybe it was indeed somehow Hebert, but … well, whoever heard of bugs being _smart? _Bugs were_ dumb._ And these bugs weren't showing any sign of being anything else. Apart from leaving Hebert's dad alone. _Which actually makes it more likely that he's the Master._

She moved with the group, carefully keeping within the bubble of clear air, as they approached the front of the house. _It's now or never._

"I'll go in, scout around," she offered. "Make sure there isn't a giant beehive or something just behind the front door."

Armsmaster nodded. "Take care. In and out, thirty seconds."

She smiled behind her mask. _I can do that._

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

She hadn't been sure, even with the extra bugs she'd brought in, but that was Dad all right. He approached the Swarm, along with the others, and she sent out emissaries to welcome him. Bugs landed on his head and crawled on to his glasses, to make sure it was him, and others landed on his chest and arms and back in the best she could do for a hug, right at that moment.

She was fairly sure that he had spoken her name, but she couldn't understand what else he was saying. It didn't matter; he was here, and he would read her note. He would know that it really was her, that she was alive. Everything else was secondary.

She would much rather it be just him who came into the house, but she didn't want to attack anyone else. _That could get Dad in trouble. _So she held her bugs in abeyance; they didn't attack anyone, but the only one that they actively avoided was her father. _That should show them that he's the important one here._

She was still working on refining her interpretation of bug senses; she supposed that it was because she had a human mind, stored in multiple bug brains, and it was hard enough for her to think straight as it was. The closer the bugs were together, the easier this was for her, and the more human she felt. _I need to pull myself together, hah._

Still and all, she had gotten a fairly good idea of who some of the people with her father actually were. _Armour and halberd equals Armsmaster. Three of the others are wearing costumes, but they aren't adults. That makes them Wards. The other two, I have no idea._

_Wow, Dad's getting a full escort in here. _That led to a sobering thought._ They think I might still attack him, or the other two, whoever they might be._

_Okay, I'll hold off on any aggressive actions unless I'm certain that they're trying to attack me or Dad._

As an afterthought, she pulled all the bugs away from where she had left the note. It was a clear rectangle on the table. _They'll notice it. Please let them notice it._

In the basement, she was congregating more and more bugs, pressing them closer and closer together in a single living mound of chitin. _If I'm normally smart just like this, I wonder what happens if I get all my bugs _**_really_**_ close?_

The front door had not opened, but the Swarm detected a shadowy figure moving into the house. She couldn't get any sort of impression of it, save that it was dark, and moved her bugs a little bit when it moved through them. _Shadow Stalker, of the Wards,_ she realised. A nagging memory crossed her mind – _I think I saw her, earlier. Why does she remind me of someone? –_ but then it was gone, as Shadow Stalker started up the stairs. _Why are you going that way? Don't go that way. Go to the table. That's where the note is._

Bugs began to flow through the shadowy form, in an attempt to guide her to where the note was.

* * *

**Dana**

* * *

There was a row of barriers across the road, up ahead. Momentarily, Dana considered crashing the perimeter – _way to make a dramatic entrance – _but decided against it. It would be much easier to convince whoever was in charge of the PRT operation if she _didn't_ antagonise them from the start.

The blank-visored soldiers on the perimeter were certainly aware of her as she drove toward them; rather than make them nervous, she braked to a halt a decorous distance away from the plastic barrier, then climbed out of the car and hurried toward them. In one hand, she had the briefcase with all her notes; in the other, the case holding her laptop.

"Ma'am, going to need you to stop right there," declared one of the PRT soldiers. He didn't unsling his rifle, but his partner did, even if it wasn't pointed directly at Dana. He did, however, hold his hand out in a definitive 'halt' gesture. "This is a PRT operation. We're dealing with a dangerous parahuman."

"I know," she told them. "That's why I'm here." She swapped both cases to the same hand, and reached into her coat. When she looked up, she was looking into two rifle barrels. She froze.

"Ma'am," the soldier stated much more coldly, "please take your hand out of your coat, slowly."

"It's okay," Dana told him urgently. "Police officer. Dana McAllister, Homicide. I'm just getting my badge."

He jerked the rifle barrel slightly. "Go ahead. Just the badge."

Slowly, Dana withdrew her hand, held up the leather wallet holding the badge. "I need to see your commanding officer, as fast as possible," she told the man. "I have information on the situation here. I'm pretty sure I know who killed the Hebert girl."

"Killed the who what now?" asked the second soldier.

Dana pointed, with the hand holding the wallet, at the tremendous swarm. "I know who caused _that."_

* * *

**Sophia**

* * *

_Crap._

The bugs were going to be more of a problem than Sophia had envisaged. She could move through the swarm well enough in her shadow form, but they slowed her down, disrupted her. If enough of them flew through her in the right direction, she felt, they could actually move her in that direction. All of which would not have been a problem, except that she wanted to get upstairs in a hurry, and the bugs were actually slowing her down significantly.

_Maybe I should have gone in through the roof._

_No, then it would have been too obvious._

_Crap._

It was too late to change the plan. Once the others got inside, she would be under their eyes, and it would be so much harder to destroy the notes that Hebert had left behind. So she struggled up the stairs, and along the hallway. Bugs buzzed through her body, a few dozen at a time; it was unpleasant and utterly creepy.

_Get to Hebert's room. Get those notes._

It had become her mantra.

* * *

**Danny**

* * *

Just as Danny had been about to glance at his watch – _surely it's been more than thirty seconds –_ Armsmaster raised his hand.

"It's been more than thirty seconds," the armoured hero pronounced. _Told you so._ "She's not answering her radio. I'm going in to see what's happened. Everyone else, wait here."

Behind him, Danny heard the young hero called Clockblocker mutter, "Right. Wait here in the middle of this massive swarm of flesh-eating bugs."

Fortunately for the teen, Armsmaster either didn't hear the comment, or he simply chose to ignore it. He turned to mount the steps; Danny stepped forward and called out, "Wait!"

Armsmaster paused to look back at him. "What?"

"The first step." Danny pointed. "It's rotted. And maybe I should go with you. The bugs aren't bothering me at all."

Armsmaster shook his head. "No, sir. _We're_ here to protect _you_. You stay outside until I find out what's happened to Shadow Stalker."

Turning back toward the house, he stepped over the bottom step, and moved up to the front door. Extracting a key from one of the pouches on his belt, he inserted it and turned; the lock clicked. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside.

* * *

**Colin**

* * *

Armsmaster had never seen so many insects congregated in one place at one time. The swarm was even thicker in the house than it had been outside, and it had been daunting then. He was finding himself having to wipe his visor clear every few seconds just so that he could see, and even then, sight was actually hampered by the sheer number of bugs in the air.

However, Shadow Stalker was not lying on the floor beside the door, and nor was there any giant beehive or other insect nest to be seen. Clicking the chin switch, he tried the radio again.

"Shadow Stalker, come in. Shadow Stalker, come in. You have exceeded your time limit."

There was no answer; he flicked the switch again, changing it over to external speakers.

"Shadow Stalker!" he shouted. "Where are you?"

The sound seemed to almost be absorbed by the mass of bugs, but he was sure that wherever the Ward was in the house, she would have heard. But again, there came no reply.

_I should never have let her go in alone,_ he told himself. _This just became a rescue mission._

He chinned his radio on. "PRT command, this is Armsmaster," he reported. "Shadow Stalker is not responding to radio or voice. Taking Aegis into the building for search and rescue. Over."

"_Armsmaster, this is PRT command. Message received and understood. Be careful. Command, out."_

"Careful, roger. Armsmaster, out." Flicking the radio to the team channel, he went on. "Armsmaster, here. I'm going in to find Shadow Stalker and bring her out. Aegis, you're with me. Everyone else, stay out here. Is that understood?"

"_Uh, what about me talking to Taylor?"_ asked Danny, predictably enough.

"We don't know for a fact that it will work," Armsmaster told him patiently. "We _do_ know that Shadow Stalker has fallen out of communication. I have to assume that something's happened to her, something hostile. Stay out of the house, and remember your emergency protocols. Aegis, with me."

"_Sir."_

* * *

**Dana**

* * *

For a few moments, Dana had thought that she was going straight to the man in charge. But when the guard ushered her into the trailer, she was faced with a fresh-faced PRT lieutenant.

"Detective, you're just going to have to wait," he told her. "The Captain's currently busy. We have a problem with the team that's going into the house."

"What sort of a problem?" she asked.

"Sorry, ma'am, but I can't tell you that."

"Well then, what _can_ you tell me?"

He tried not to look harassed, but couldn't quite pull it off. "That the Captain will be able to see you just as soon as he's dealt with the problem."

"Listen," she tried again, "can you at least tell me if it's about Shadow Stalker?"

That scored; she saw his momentary startled look. However, he recovered quickly. "Ma'am, I'm not cleared to tell you what it's about."

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself down before she screamed at the man. "Look, are you cleared to talk about Shadow Stalker's secret identity?"

His eyes were guarded now. "Discussing that sort of thing, even if I knew it, which I don't, would get me into a whole _world_ of trouble, Detective."

"How about if she's guilty of murder?" That stopped him; she continued quickly. "Because I'm pretty sure that she's guilty of at least negligent homicide, and probably murder as well, and if I'm right, she's going into that house with the father of the girl she killed, in order to retrieve notes implicating her in a months-long bullying campaign against that same girl."

The Lieutenant blinked. "You have evidence?"

Dana nodded. "Yeah, I've got evidence. It's not absolutely rock-solid, but it's pretty damn compelling."

He sighed and pushed aside paperwork to clear off a space on his desk. "Show me."

She was startled. "We haven't got _time!"_

"Detective." His tone was firm. "The first thing the Captain is going to ask me when I bring this to him is 'have you seen any proof'? I need to be able to say yes. So make it fast."

Dana took a deep breath, and opened her briefcase.

* * *

**Carlos**

* * *

"_Check the living room," _Armsmaster ordered him. _"Then the kitchen. I'll check the basement. We'll both check upstairs."_

"No problem, sir," Aegis replied. Squinting his eyes, he moved into the living room, feeling the bugs thwacking against his body like living hail. More were crawling on him, but it didn't really bother him. What was odd, however, was that he didn't feel any bugs crushing underfoot as he walked; looking down, he just barely saw the living carpet of bugs moving aside as he put his foot down.

"Sir," he reported over the radio, "these bugs are under outside control. I'm not stepping on any."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the thunderous drone of tens of thousands of bug wings, and then the armoured hero replied. _"Well spotted. Nor am I. Keep looking."_

He was halfway through the living room, having ascertained that nobody was in the room, when his radio came to life once more. _"Basement. Now."_

Armsmaster rarely used that tone, and only ever in the field. Aegis shielded his face and flew across the room, caught the doorframe, and turned in midair to reach the top of the basement stairs. In doing so, he totally failed to notice the piece of paper on the kitchen table. In the basement, the light was on, although it wasn't illuminating much. What it _was_, however, illuminating, was … worrying.

Armsmaster was halfway down the steps, and Aegis joined him, shielding his eyes while looking at the mass of bugs on the basement floor. It was vaguely human-shaped; two long bumps for arms, a narrower section for two legs, and a bump that could be a head; it lay on the floor of the basement. Worst of all, though, was the fact that it was moving very slightly.

"Oh god," choked Aegis. "Is there … someone _under _that?"

"Infrared says there is," Armsmaster told him shortly. "Come on, we have to save whoever it is."

As they descended to floor level, he heard Armsmaster speaking quietly, but not over the radio, and knew he must be on the command channel. "Armsmaster to PRT command. Person in basement, buried under bugs. Best bet is that it's Shadow Stalker. We're getting her out now. Pull back the others."

* * *

**Danny**

* * *

"_Pull back. Repeat, pull back."_

Danny frowned. "What? Why?"

"_No time for questions. Pull back, now."_

Already, the police officers were stepping back. Clockblocker put his hand on Danny's arm. "Sir, we really should be getting back, like they say."

"**No,"** snapped Danny, and Clockblocker froze.**"You can do what you want, but I'm going into the house."**

"Okay, you're going into the house," Clockblocker agreed. "We'll be back over here, okay?"

Danny didn't answer; he pushed the door open and entered the house, the bugs still leaving an empty bubble around him.

"_Mr Hebert," _he heard through the headset. _"Leave the house at -"_

With a growl, he tore the thing off and threw it to the floor. _I'm going to talk to Taylor._

Walking through into his living room, as he had done for years, he looked around. Bugs crawled on every surface, but he barely saw them. He was looking for traces of his daughter.

"Taylor?" he asked. "Are you there?"

And the Swarm spoke to him.

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

_Go downstairs. Look on the kitchen table._ But despite the stream of bugs travelling through the shadow-girl's body, she persevered, moving stubbornly along the corrridor.

_Oh. Maybe she's been told about the notes I've been taking._ That made sense. But something seemed to tell her that it was a bad idea to let the girl take them. _What is it? Why don't I want her to see them?_ It was something from before she achieved full consciousness, when she was drifting on the wind. Something that she could not remember, not fully.

She observed as the girl reached her bedroom door, still open, and slid inside.

_Okay, fine, I'll let her have them. See what she does._

The bugs on the bed drew back, revealing the stack of notes still lying there; Taylor turned her attention to the living room, downstairs, where her father had just walked in.

"_Dad,"_ she spoke to him in the multitudinous buzz/hum/click of the Swarm. _"Dad. It's me. I'm alive."_

She saw him turn his head, listening. "Taylor," he replied, and she understood him. "Taylor. Thank God."

And then Taylor saw what was happening in the bedroom.

* * *

**Sophia**

* * *

She stopped for a breather halfway along the corridor; leaning against the wall, she let herself slip back to reality, breathing heavily. Thankful that her mask kept out most of the bugs.

"Shadow Stalker! Where are you?"

Armsmaster's voice, amplified by his helmet's speakers, echoed through the house. Shadow Stalker shook her head and went back to shadow, her skin crawling from the number of bugs that had alighted on her during the breather.

This was _tiring. _It was like wading through molasses, or thick mud, or trying to move against a strong wind. The bugs whipped through her almost immaterial shadow-substance, and while they couldn't touch her or hurt her, they could slow her, wear her out. _But I don't lose._

Forcing herself onward, she eased through the open door into the bedroom. Bugs coated every surface, hung like obscene stalactites from the ceiling. And then some of the bugs on the bed moved aside, and she saw the stack of notes. Held together with a bulldog clip.

_It couldn't be this easy, could it?_

Going solid, she reached down, picked it up. Tried to leaf through it. But the bugs were landing on it, crawling around, preventing her from reading anything all the way through. So all she got was the occasional name, reference to an incident. Dates starting in September of the previous year. _Around the time I joined the Wards. Fuck, she's been doing this for _**_this_**_ long?_

She weighed the stack of papers. _It's heavy. Thick. Won't burn easy. _There'd been half an idea in her head to put it in the trash or simply light it on fire. But this would be found. Some part of it would be found. Unless she removed it altogether from the premises.

Lifting up her cape, she tucked it down the back of her belt, over her butt. Letting her cape fall, she checked over her shoulder. _They'll never notice. I'll just stroll out, destroy it at my leisure._

Under her mask, she smiled. "I _win_, Hebert."

That was when the first wasp stung her.

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

_What's she doing?_ Taylor couldn't figure it out. _She's got the notes. Why isn't she bringing them downstairs?_

And then she spoke, and Taylor heard it, through the ears of ten thousand bugs at once. It wasn't so much the words, as the tone, the tilt of the head. The _arrogance._

_That's fucking Sophia Hess._

Wasps swarmed to the attack. Sophia was caught unawares by the sudden change, from passive to aggressive. She was stung half a dozen times before she managed to go to shadow form, to lunge for the window. But Taylor had learned; she had trouble moving against massed swarms. So her bugs swirled through Sophia's shadowy body, pushing her back toward the centre of the room.

_She can't stay that way forever. I can outwait her._

And then Sophia went back to normal form just for a moment. And she screamed, loud and long. Even as she tried to draw breath again, bugs scrambled past her mask, down her throat. She coughed, choked … then went to shadow form again.

Taylor stayed on her. _Come on. Turn solid. Just once._

* * *

**Carlos**

* * *

The scream came from above; it resounded in their radio earpieces as well as down the stairs. Aegis' head jerked up, as did Armsmaster's.

"Shadow Stalker," they both stated at the same time. Aegis stared at the older hero as the realisation sank in, and then he gestured at the shape more or less at their feet. "If that's Shadow Stalker, then who's_this?"_

"I'll find out," snapped Armsmaster. "Go help Shadow Stalker."

"Right," agreed Aegis. He didn't bother using the stairs; once more, he took flight up the staircase, pulling a hard one-eighty to get himself into the front hall. Angling upward, he grabbed the stair rail and swung himself around another one-eighty degree turn. Bugs caromed off of his face as he got to the top of the stairs and swung down the corridor; a couple of stings penetrated; he felt the venom sting, then tingle, then die away as his body adapted.

The noise of the swarm was now a roar; he was fighting against a tempest as he followed the next scream into an open doorway. Every surface was covered inches deep in bugs of all types, and the shadowy form in the middle of the room was literally swamped in them. More stings hit, and penetrated, but he ignored them.

He aimed his spray canister at Shadow Stalker's immaterial form, at the swarm roiling through the space that she occupied, and let fly. Sickly yellowish fog filled the room; he just kept the trigger down. The taste was acrid, and then he adapted to it. Bugs stopped hitting him from the side, and hit him from above, instead, as those that had been on the ceiling, or flying above him, died. Vaguely, he saw a swirl as Shadow Stalker phased out through the wall.

There was one more thing he had to do. "Aegis to all points. Bugs are hostile. Repeat, bugs are hostile."

* * *

**Danny**

* * *

His head jerked up at the scream from above. "What the hell was _that?"_

"_Shadow Stalker, Dad. Sophia Hess."_ She was refining her technique, smoothing her words out. It almost sounded like real speech, now. _"She just tried to steal my notes about the bullies. I stopped her."_ She sounded grimly satisfied.

"What … what are you doing to her?"

"_Keeping her in place, until the heroes get there. Ah, here comes Aegis. Good. No, not good. No, don't. Shit."_

"What? What's happened?"

"_He killed the bugs I was using to hold her in place. She got away, with the notes. I'm chasing her, but they've got insect spray. I can't … fuck. She's getting away."_

Danny squared his jaw. "No, she's not."

Turning, he dashed from the house.

* * *

**Colin**

* * *

Bending over the supine form, Armsmaster prepared to sweep away a carpet of living bugs, but he was surprised; all that his gauntlets encountered were empty shells, lifeless husks, that clattered on the concrete floor of the basement. Brushing them aside more readily, he exposed what was below; a dirty-yellow expanse of something smooth, firm, yielding. Vaguely human shaped.

And then it flexed, and he realised what he was seeing. _It's a cocoon._

_Christ, those bugs _**_cocooned_**_ someone._

In the back of his mind, he heard someone telling Danny Hebert to leave the house, but he ignored it. The person in front of him needed his assistance _right now._

He had no idea how or why the bugs had managed to cocoon someone, but the situation was undeniable. He tried to tear the stuff, but it just stretched a little; it was tough. Really tough. The same went for lifting it; it was glued to the floor, and he couldn't pull it free.

On the other hand, Armsmaster prided himself on his versatility, and he _had_ brought along his halberd. Pulling the weapon off his back, just as the bugs in the cellar kicked their buzzing to a new level, he heard Aegis' statement over the radio.

"_Aegis to all points. Bugs are hostile. Repeat, bugs are hostile."_

"_Not_ a surprise," he muttered, as he slid the very tip of the halberd into a pinched-up fold of the material, and unzipped it like a sleeping bag.

The teenage girl within sat up and blinked at him.

* * *

**Sophia**

* * *

She didn't have to fake her fear. Being swarmed like that had been intensely unpleasant, and she had sincerely feared for her life for just a few moments, before Aegis had stormed into the room. So as she landed, solid, on the pavement outside the Hebert house, and ran toward the nearest PRT trooper, she screamed at the top of her lungs, "Help me! Oh god, please help!"

Nor was he slow in providing that help, not when what looked like half the bug population of Brockton Bay was following the dark-clad Ward, with murderous intent. He aimed his spray gun, released the clouds of deadly vapour, and bugs died in their tens of thousands. Sophia stopped in the middle of the spray, luxuriating in it; it tasted acrid on the tongue, and smelled worse, but right then, it was the best smell in all the world.

The bugs fell back; Sophia took the opportunity to activate her radio. "Sorry about that. My headset was playing up. The bugs went nuts and chased me. Whatever's in there wants to kill us all."

"_The bugs in the rest of the house are agitated as well," _Aegis supplied, on the radio net. _"How are you doing, Shadow Stalker?"_

She could afford to be generous. "Great, thanks to you," she replied, stepping past the PRT man with a nod; he nodded back. "You got there just in time." There was a trash bin, just up ahead. If she could slip the notes in there …

"**Stop right there, Shadow Stalker."**

She froze, could not take another step.

"**Come back here."**

Against her will, she turned. One step. Another. Walking toward Danny Hebert, who had just stepped out of the house. Looking directly toward her. Gesturing her toward him.

She couldn't stop walking, but she could speak. "What the fuck? That bastard's Mastering me! Help!"

Guns were lifted toward Danny; he spoke again. **"No-one interferes."**

The guns were lowered again. She took another reluctant step. "Fuck _you," _she gritted. Drawing one of her crossbows, she loaded it.

"I've spoken to Taylor," he told her. "She told me what you did."

Her treacherous feet kept moving her toward him. She tried going to shadow, but it didn't do anything; she changed back. In desperation, she reached back behind her; under her cape, beside where the notes resided, she had a small holdout of arrows. The sharp kind. _Just in case._

Fingers made clumsy with haste, she changed out arrows.

"Shadow Stalker!"

It was a woman's voice. Not one she knew. She glanced over, annoyed.

A woman, gun in one hand, badge in the other. "Shadow Stalker! You are under arrest for murder! Drop your weapon!"

She curled her lip. Went to go to shadow form.

"**No."**

With that negation, which she _knew_ was meant for this and this alone, she stayed solid. Kept walking.

"Shadow Stalker, drop your weapon and surrender, or I _will_ open fire!"

More reluctant steps. A pistol, pointed at her. Danny Hebert, in front of her. And beyond him …

Up until then, she _could_ have given up. Could have surrendered. The deck was stacked against her, everyone working to her ruin. Shit just happened sometimes. She could plead some sort of temporary insanity deal.

But when she saw Armsmaster leaving the front of the house, and who he was escorting, all that went out the window. Snarling, she brought up her arm, aimed the crossbow. Began to squeeze the trigger.

"Last warning!"

_You'll never do it._

A tremendous report, a crashing impact. Sophia found herself lying on her back. Her empty crossbow next to her hand. Hot wetness spreading across her shoulder.

* * *

The woman standing over her, holstering her pistol. Looking down at her with contempt.

"You'll live. And as soon as you're out of danger, I _will _be reading you your rights."

* * *

A PRT medic was kneeling alongside her, her costume partly cut away, a bandage on her right shoulder. Armsmaster was looking down at her, his expression probably disapproving. And beside him … she tried to shake her head. Her voice was weak, but she spoke anyway.

"You're dead. You died."

Taylor Hebert, clad from neck to feet in a living curtain of bugs, shook her head. "I got better."

* * *

**Epilogue, Part 1**

* * *

The sound of the policewoman's gun still echoed from the buildings; Shadow Stalker was on her back.

So, too, was Taylor; the renegade Ward's aim had been impeccable. The arrow stuck out, just under her ribcage. Dark blood welled around it. She half-sat up, the bugs that were providing her modesty moving aside so that she could examine it.

"Don't move!" snapped Armsmaster. "We'll get a medic to you!"

And then Danny was there; he fell to his knees beside Taylor. "Oh god," he groaned. "Not _again_. Please, not again."

Taylor frowned. "It's no big deal," she told them. Wrapping her hand around the shaft of the arrow, she pulled it from the wound. Blood spurted, and then the bugs closed over it. The bloodflow stopped.

"What the -" began Armsmaster.

Taylor handed the arrow to him. "Evidence of attempted murder, this time," she noted. "Last time was an accident. This time, surely not."

He accepted it, wonderingly, as the bugs drew aside. Several empty husks fell to the ground, as a patch of yellowish cocoon material was revealed. Showing no pain at all, Taylor got to her feet. She looked at the stunned gazes on the faces around her.

" … what?"

* * *

**Epilogue, Part 2**

* * *

" … while you did use your Master ability on PRT personnel, I have been assured that the circumstances were understandably confused," Emily Piggot stated. "However, it is still against the law, so - "

"So how about this," interrupted Taylor, from beside her father. "Dad and I join the Protectorate – well, Dad joins the Protectorate – and I join the Wards, and neither of us speaks to the press about the monumental _fuck-up_ that was every single minute of Sophia Hess being a Ward, we get a damages payout for all the _shit_ Sophia put me through, and you don't give Dad any shit about Mastering a few dozen PRT goons."

Piggot turned a glare on to Taylor; the girl wasn't noticeably affected by it. "After all," Taylor went on, "that _is_ how you agreed with Glenn and Armsmaster that it would go, wasn't it?"

Piggot blinked. Danny looked at his daughter. "Okay, how did you know _that?"_

Taylor shrugged and grinned. "Fly on the wall."

The Director scowled. "That's entirely unacceptable. You do not have leave to listen in on private conversations."

Her tone of voice brooked no disagreement; Taylor shrugged again, this time a little uncomfortably. "Well, you _were_ talking about us, behind our backs, even … "

Danny glanced at Piggot. "She _does_ have a point."

Piggot's scowl deepened. "There are rules to be adhered to, even with powers of your scope. In fact, there's an argument to be made that the rules should be adhered to _more_ strongly, in the case of more powerful capes such as yourselves."

Taylor nodded. "Well, to be honest, I'd be the last person to argue against people being held to a certain standard of conduct." She smiled brightly at the Director. "So, how's the case against Shadow Stalker going?"

Piggot nodded. "Middling. She's still refusing to talk, but between the evidence presented, the witnesses who saw her shoot you, and Emma Barnes turning State's evidence … "

Danny's eyebrows hitched upward. "Really?"

"Really." Piggot turned over a sheet of paper. "Now, given Taylor's return to life, you are of course going to have to change identities and move -"

"No," Danny told her firmly. "We're not going anywhere."

"But Taylor - "

"Was in a coma," Taylor stated flatly.

"You were _dead!"_

"A really _deep_ coma," Taylor insisted.

"The medical examiners - "

"Pay them off," Danny told her.

"And this means you can have her charged for attempted manslaughter _and _attempted murder on me, as well as the murder of Greg Veder," Taylor pointed out. Her face fell slightly. "Poor Greg."

Danny put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. "If it wasn't for him … "

She leaned against him. "Yeah. He was a better friend than I knew." It was a melancholy thought.

"So, if you're staying in Brockton Bay," Director Piggot commented, "what cape names are you going to be using?"

Danny tilted his head in thought. "I was thinking … 'Union'."

Taylor snorted. "Showing your Association ties there, Dad."

He grinned, ruffling her hair. "And what were you thinking of, kiddo?"

Taylor rubbed her chin. A few bees and a wasp, appearing as if from nowhere, flew around her head, and then disappeared again. "I think I'll go with 'Swarm'."

* * *

**Epilogue, Part 3**

* * *

Danny closed the front door behind them and stretched. "Home again. God, was that a long day."

"Oh, god yes." Taylor wandered through to the living room. "I think I know what we're getting with our damages payout." She gestured at the ruined TV. "I don't think that's the ideal way to turn it off."

He joined her, and pulled her into a hug. She leaned into it, head against his chest.

"Yeah, well, I was kind of upset at the time," he admitted quietly.

"Oh hey, I've got something for you," she told him. "I made it specially."

He frowned. "What?"

She headed through into the kitchen, and retrieved a sheet of paper. He took it from her, and frowned. "How did you write this?"

She gestured at the wall, where the tomato paste had dried. "One piece at a time."

He stared at the paper; formed from tiny red dots, the words wandered across the page. They weren't perfectly level, or all of the same size, but the message was clear:

**DAD**

**IT'S ME**

**I'M ALIVE**

**I'M IN THE SWARM**

**I LOVE YOU**

**TAYLOR**

Tears filling his eyes, he pulled her into another embrace. "I love you too, kiddo," he told her. "I love you too."

* * *

The End

* * *

_A/N: This is not necessarily the end of the story; Union and Swarm may yet appear in sequels. Just so you know._


	10. Chapter 10

**Alternate Ending**

_A/N: this picks up halfway through Chapter 9._

* * *

**Carlos**

* * *

"_Check the living room," _Armsmaster ordered him. _"Then the kitchen. I'll check the basement. We'll both check upstairs."_

"No problem, sir," Aegis replied. Squinting his eyes, he moved into the living room, feeling the bugs thwacking against his body like living hail. More were crawling on him, but it didn't really bother him. What was odd, however, was that he didn't feel any bugs crushing underfoot as he walked; looking down, he just barely saw the living carpet of bugs moving aside as he put his foot down.

"Sir," he reported over the radio, "these bugs are under outside control. I'm not stepping on any."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the thunderous drone of tens of thousands of bug wings, and then the armoured hero replied. _"Well spotted. Nor am I. Keep looking."_

He was halfway through the living room, having ascertained that nobody was in the room, when his radio came to life once more. _"Basement. Now."_

Armsmaster rarely used that tone, and only ever in the field. Aegis shielded his face and flew across the room, caught the doorframe, and turned in midair to reach the top of the basement stairs. In doing so, he totally failed to notice the piece of paper on the kitchen table. In the basement, the light was on, although it wasn't illuminating much. What it _was_, however, illuminating, was … worrying.

Armsmaster was halfway down the steps, and Aegis joined him, shielding his eyes while looking at the mass of bugs on the basement floor. It was ... _huge._ Shapeless, two yards across, a vaguley moving mass of bugs.

"Oh god," choked Aegis. "What _is _that?"

"I was hoping you might know," Armsmaster told him shortly. "Shadow Stalker might be under there, or they might be nesting."

Aegis had a horrible thought. "Or both."

"Or both," agreed Armsmaster. As they descended to floor level, he heard Armsmaster speaking quietly, but not over the radio, and knew he must be on the command channel. "Armsmaster to PRT command. We may have located Shadow Stalker. We're getting her out now. Pull back the others."

* * *

**Danny**

* * *

"_Pull back. Repeat, pull back."_

Danny frowned. "What? Why?"

"_No time for questions. Pull back, now."_

Already, the police officers were stepping back. Clockblocker put his hand on Danny's arm. "Sir, we really should be getting back, like they say."

"**No,"** snapped Danny, and Clockblocker froze.**"You can do what you want, but I'm going into the house."**

"Okay, you're going into the house," Clockblocker agreed. "We'll be back over here, okay?"

Danny didn't answer; he pushed the door open and entered the house, the bugs still leaving an empty bubble around him.

"_Mr Hebert," _he heard through the headset. _"Leave the house at -"_

With a growl, he tore the thing off and threw it to the floor. _I'm going to talk to Taylor._

Walking through into his living room, as he had done for years, he looked around. Bugs crawled on every surface, but he barely saw them. He was looking for traces of his daughter.

"Taylor?" he asked. "Are you there?"

And the Swarm spoke to him.

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

_Go downstairs. Look on the kitchen table._ But despite the stream of bugs travelling through the shadow-girl's body, she persevered, moving stubbornly along the corrridor.

_Oh. Maybe she's been told about the notes I've been taking._ That made sense. But something seemed to tell her that it was a bad idea to let the girl take them. _What is it? Why don't I want her to see them?_ It was something from before she achieved full consciousness, when she was drifting on the wind. Something that she could not remember, not fully.

She observed as the girl reached her bedroom door, still open, and slid inside.

_Okay, fine, I'll let her have them. See what she does._

The bugs on the bed drew back, revealing the stack of notes still lying there; Taylor turned her attention to the living room, downstairs, where her father had just walked in.

"_Dad,"_ she spoke to him in the multitudinous buzz/hum/click of the Swarm. _"Dad. It's me. I'm alive."_

She saw him turn his head, listening. "Taylor," he replied, and she understood him. "Taylor. Thank God."

And then Taylor saw what was happening in the bedroom.

* * *

**Sophia**

* * *

She stopped for a breather halfway along the corridor; leaning against the wall, she let herself slip back to reality, breathing heavily. Thankful that her mask kept out most of the bugs.

"Shadow Stalker! Where are you?"

Armsmaster's voice, amplified by his helmet's speakers, echoed through the house. Shadow Stalker shook her head and went back to shadow, her skin crawling from the number of bugs that had alighted on her during the breather.

This was _tiring. _It was like wading through molasses, or thick mud, or trying to move against a strong wind. The bugs whipped through her almost immaterial shadow-substance, and while they couldn't touch her or hurt her, they could slow her, wear her out. _But I don't lose._

Forcing herself onward, she eased through the open door into the bedroom. Bugs coated every surface, hung like obscene stalactites from the ceiling. And then some of the bugs on the bed moved aside, and she saw the stack of notes. Held together with a bulldog clip.

_It couldn't be this easy, could it?_

Going solid, she reached down, picked it up. Tried to leaf through it. But the bugs were landing on it, crawling around, preventing her from reading anything all the way through. So all she got was the occasional name, reference to an incident. Dates starting in September of the previous year. _Around the time I joined the Wards. Fuck, she's been doing this for __**this**__ long?_

She weighed the stack of papers. _It's heavy. Thick. Won't burn easy. _There'd been half an idea in her head to put it in the trash or simply light it on fire. But this would be found. Some part of it would be found. Unless she removed it altogether from the premises.

Lifting up her cape, she tucked it down the back of her belt, over her butt. Letting her cape fall, she checked over her shoulder. _They'll never notice. I'll just stroll out, destroy it at my leisure._

Under her mask, she smiled. "I _win_, Hebert."

That was when the first wasp stung her.

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

_What's she doing?_ Taylor couldn't figure it out. _She's got the notes. Why isn't she bringing them downstairs?_

And then she spoke, and Taylor heard it, through the ears of ten thousand bugs at once. It wasn't so much the words, as the tone, the tilt of the head. The _arrogance._

_That's fucking Sophia Hess._

Wasps swarmed to the attack. Sophia was caught unawares by the sudden change, from passive to aggressive. She was stung half a dozen times before she managed to go to shadow form, to lunge for the window. But Taylor had learned; she had trouble moving against massed swarms. So her bugs swirled through Sophia's shadowy body, pushing her back toward the centre of the room.

_She can't stay that way forever. I can outwait her._

And then Sophia went back to normal form just for a moment. And she screamed, loud and long. Even as she tried to draw breath again, bugs scrambled past her mask, down her throat. She coughed, choked … then went to shadow form again.

Taylor stayed on her. _Come on. Turn solid. Just once._

* * *

**Carlos**

* * *

The scream came from above; it resounded in their radio earpieces as well as down the stairs. Aegis' head jerked up, as did Armsmaster's.

"Shadow Stalker," they both stated at the same time. Aegis stared at the older hero as the realisation sank in, and then he gestured at the shape more or less at their feet. "If that's Shadow Stalker, then she can't be under here."

"Correct," snapped Armsmaster. "Go! I'll be right behind you!"

"Going," responded Aegis. He didn't bother using the stairs; once more, he took flight up the staircase, pulling a hard one-eighty to get himself into the front hall. Behind him, he heard Armsmaster's boots pounding up the steps. Angling upward, he grabbed the stair rail and swung himself around another one-eighty degree turn. Bugs caromed off of his face as he got to the top of the stairs and swung down the corridor; a couple of stings penetrated; he felt the venom sting, then tingle, then die away as his body adapted.

The noise of the swarm was now a roar; he was fighting against a tempest as he followed the next scream into an open doorway. Every surface was covered inches deep in bugs of all types, and the shadowy form in the middle of the room was literally swamped in them. More stings hit, and penetrated, but he ignored them.

He aimed his spray canister at Shadow Stalker's immaterial form, at the swarm roiling through the space that she occupied, and let fly. Sickly yellowish fog filled the room; he just kept the trigger down. The taste was acrid, and then he adapted to it. Bugs stopped hitting him from the side, and hit him from above, instead, as those that had been on the ceiling, or flying above him, died. Vaguely, he saw a swirl as Shadow Stalker phased out through the wall.

There was one more thing he had to do. "Aegis to all points. Bugs are hostile. Repeat, bugs are hostile."

* * *

**Danny**

* * *

His head jerked up at the scream from above. "What the hell was _that?"_

"_Shadow Stalker, Dad. Sophia Hess."_ She was refining her technique, smoothing her words out. It almost sounded like real speech, now. _"She's one of the bullies. She just tried to steal my notes about her and the others. I stopped her."_ She sounded grimly satisfied. Footsteps sounded from elsewhere in the house; he ignored them.

"What … what are you doing to her?"

"_Keeping her in place, until the heroes get there. Ah, here comes Aegis. Good. No, not good. No, don't. Shit."_

"What? What's happened?"

"_He killed the bugs I was using to hold her in place. She got away, with the notes. I'm chasing her, but they've got insect spray. I can't … fuck. She's getting away."_

Armsmaster entered the living room. "Who were you talking to? I heard voices."

Danny turned to him. "Taylor. But that's not important. Shadow Stalker's -"

"- been attacked by the bugs, I know. You're in danger. I have to get you out of here."

He took hold of Danny's arm, started to hustle him from the room. Danny did not resist.

_Getting away? Like __**hell**__._

* * *

**Colin**

* * *

Aegis had quickly outdistanced him; as he got to the bottom of the stairs, Armsmaster heard Aegis' announcement. He also heard voices from within the living room; what they were saying was almost drowned out by the droning of the bugs.

_Aegis can handle himself._ He entered the living room, not altogether surprised to see Danny Hebert standing there. But there was no-one with him.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked suspiciously. "I heard voices."

The expression on Danny Hebert's face, when he turned to Armsmaster, was almost beatific. Tears were running down his cheeks. "Taylor. But that's not important. Shadow Stalker's -"

"- been attacked by the bugs, I know," Armsmaster interrupted impatiently. _I understand that he's lost his daughter, but I do not have time for this._ "You're in danger. I have to get you out of here."

Danny did not resist as Armsmaster hustled him out of the living room, through the hall, and out the front door. In fact, he pulled free as soon as they were down the steps, and hurried out of the yard.

As Armsmaster followed, he heard Shadow Stalker on comms.

"_Sorry about that. My headset was playing up. The bugs went nuts and chased me. Whatever's in there wants to kill us all."_

* * *

**Sophia**

* * *

She didn't have to fake her fear. Being swarmed like that had been intensely unpleasant, and she had sincerely feared for her life for just a few moments, before Aegis had stormed into the room. So as she landed, solid, on the pavement outside the Hebert house, and ran toward the nearest PRT trooper, she screamed at the top of her lungs, "Help me! Oh god, please help!"

Nor was he slow in providing that help, not when what looked like half the bug population of Brockton Bay was following the dark-clad Ward, with murderous intent. He aimed his spray gun, released the clouds of deadly vapour, and bugs died in their tens of thousands. Sophia stopped in the middle of the spray, luxuriating in it; it tasted acrid on the tongue, and smelled worse, but right then, it was the best smell in all the world.

The bugs fell back; Sophia took the opportunity to activate her radio. "Sorry about that. My headset was playing up. The bugs went nuts and chased me. Whatever's in there wants to kill us all."

"_The bugs in the rest of the house are agitated as well," _Aegis supplied, on the radio net. _"How are you doing, Shadow Stalker?"_

She could afford to be generous. "Great, thanks to you," she replied, stepping past the PRT man with a nod; he nodded back. "You got there just in time." There was a trash bin, just up ahead. If she could slip the notes in there …

"**Stop right there, Shadow Stalker."**

She froze, could not take another step.

"**Come back here."**

Against her will, she turned. One step. Another. Walking toward Danny Hebert, who had just stepped out of the house. Looking directly toward her. Gesturing her toward him.

She couldn't stop walking, but she could speak. "What the fuck? That bastard's Mastering me! Help!"

Guns were lifted toward Danny; he spoke again. **"No-one interferes."**

The guns were lowered again. She took another reluctant step. "Fuck _you," _she gritted. Drawing one of her crossbows, she loaded it.

"I've spoken to Taylor," he told her. "She told me what you did."

Her treacherous feet kept moving her toward him. She tried going to shadow, but it didn't do anything; she changed back. In desperation, she reached back behind her; under her cape, beside where the notes resided, she had a small holdout of arrows. The sharp kind. _Just in case._

Fingers made clumsy with haste, she changed out arrows.

"Shadow Stalker!"

It was a woman's voice. Not one she knew. She glanced over, annoyed.

A woman, gun in one hand, badge in the other. "Shadow Stalker! You are under arrest for murder! Drop your weapon!"

She curled her lip. Went to shadow form.

"**No."**

With that negation, which she _knew_ was meant for this and this alone, she went solid and stayed solid. Kept walking.

"Shadow Stalker, drop your weapon and surrender, or I _will_ open fire!"

**"No, you won't."**

The police officer's face was a study in shock. Danny Hebert ignored her, gestured at the crossbow that Sophia was holding. **"Put it under your chin."**

Slowly, reluctantly, the weapon raised upward until it was resting where he had instructed her to rest it. The tip of the arrowhead pricked gently at the soft skin under her jaw. _If I pull the trigger now, it'll go straight through my brain._

She didn't want to do it, but she knew that if he told her to do it, she would. It would happen. She would die. A whimper escaped her throat, and she hated herself for it.

"Mr Hebert." It was Armsmaster, behind Danny. _He won't let him do it. _Sophia felt tears of gratitude in her eyes.

**"Shut up. Don't interfere."**

Armsmaster opened his mouth, closed it, then folded his arms. Terror clenched Sophia's gut.

Danny seemed to be studying her, from just a few paces away. Like a bug under a microscope. Something so far beneath him that they barely shared any human ancestry at all.

"Why?" he asked, the compelling tone gone from his voice. "Why did you do it?" There was no anger, no accusation. Just ... curiosity.

Sophia glared back at him, her courage returning. _I'll give you nothing._

Danny sighed. **"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't tell you to pull that trigger."**

Her throat locked up. There were many reasons. She wasn't really sure if any of them would count as 'good' to him. _I don't want to die._

"Mr Hebert, you _can't."_

It was the police officer. Her pistol was at her side. Danny turned to face her. "You can't stop me."

"No, I can't," she agreed. "I can't interfere."

"She deserves this. She deserves the same squalid little death that she gave Taylor."

What frightened Sophia the most was the flat quality to his voice. He had gone beyond anger, beyond hot-blooded revenge. What would happen to her now, would happen because he _wanted_ it to happen, not because of a sudden impulse.

"Oh, I agree," the police detective replied. "I agree that she deserves punishment. But what she needs is punishment under _law_, Mr Hebert. Not lynch law justice."

"Where was the law when she was bullying my daughter?" Danny's voice rose slightly. "Where was the law when Taylor was in the locker, begging and screaming to be let out, and _this one_ was standing outside, laughing?"

There was still anger there. Sophia caught it in the glance that he threw her; the hatred was so palpable that she had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering again.

"Well, when you put it like _that,_ I can't really argue with you," the police officer conceded.

"Good," Danny replied. **"Sophia. When I count three, you will squeeze the trigger. One. Two."**

"No!" shouted the police officer; Sophia, her finger already taut on the trigger, nearly killed herself with the start of surprise. But the last increment of pressure had not been taken up, and she continued to live. Tears of terror were spilling from her eyes now.

* * *

**Dana**

* * *

Danny glared at Dana. "Do I need to tell _you _to shut up as well?"

"Mr Hebert, _think. _This isn't for her." Her voice was urgent; she tried to think of ways to persuade him not to commit murder right in front of her. "It's for _you._ Do you really want to take this last step, in front of so many witnesses? What are you going to do? Kill us all? We've done nothing to you. If you do this, the PRT _will_ do its best to hunt you down, imprison you, kill you."

He glared at her. "This isn't murder. She _deserves_ this."

"And even if you're exonerated," Dana went on relentlessly, "what happens then? They'll never forget that you murdered one of their own. You'll always be watched, always be a suspect for Master crimes."

Danny's head dropped. "I can't just let her walk away," he ground out. _"Taylor ..."_

"She won't just walk away," Dana assured him. "I can pin two murders on her, right now. And there were some notes, in Taylor's bedroom ..."

She and Danny turned to look at the disgraced Ward. She stared back at them, not giving an inch. Danny sighed. **"Give her the notes."**

With her free hand – Dana could tell how hard she was trying, and failing, to resist – Shadow Stalker reached back, retrieved the notes, and handed them to Dana. She took them, flicked through them. "God," she muttered. "There's enough here to implicate half the damn school."

"Due to _her," _Danny stated flatly.

"Due to her," agreed Dana. "But think about it. Would Taylor want you to murder her in cold blood, or let her stand trial for everything she's done?"

Danny grimaced. _"Fine._" He turned to Shadow Stalker. **"Unload your crossbow. Give yourself up to the police. Do not resist arrest. Do not attempt to escape from custody."**

With shaking hands, Shadow Stalker complied, slotting the arrow into a holder somewhere under her cloak. She dropped the crossbow, then wrenched her mask off; falling to her hands and knees, she threw up convulsively. Danny stepped back from her and nodded to Dana. Then he raised his voice. **"Everyone except Shadow Stalker, ignore what I said."**

There was a general tide of movement; a few people pointed rifles at Danny, but Armsmaster stepped past them, gesturing for them to lower their weapons.

* * *

**Danny**

* * *

He watched as Armsmaster approached him. The man's lips were set in a grim line. "That was not a good thing to do."

Danny found that he didn't care much any more. "I stopped."

"Yes, but you Mastered all of us. That's an offence. You could be arrested for that."

"If I _hadn't _done it, Shadow Stalker might just have gotten away."

"If you'd had Shadow Stalker pull that trigger, that would have been premeditated murder." His voice was angry.

"And whose goddamn fault was it that a _Ward_ saw fit to torment my daughter for _months_, with _no-one _stopping her?" demanded Danny. _"You're _the fucking superhero. She's _your _responsibility. She did this, she caused this. Which means it's on _you. _Don't even _try_ to pin it on me."

* * *

**Colin**

* * *

"He's right, you know."

Armsmaster looked past Danny, to where the police officer was securing Shadow Stalker's hands behind her back. "I didn't ask you."

The woman looked around. "No, but you didn't investigate, either. _You_ never even had an inkling that a Ward might be bullying a defenseless teen to the point that a death occurred. _I _had to make that connection. _After_ the PRT tried to kill my investigation dead in the water." She waved a hand. "Everything that's happened here today? It's on the PRT and Protectorate. You even _try_ to prosecute Mr Hebert for this, I'll blow it wide open."

Armsmaster gritted his teeth. "So what do you suggest I do?"

She shrugged. "Do what you came here to do. Get him to tell the swarm to chill the fuck out. Then go back to your high-tech base, and look for supervillains to fight. Meanwhile, I'm taking this one downtown to get booked."

Armsmaster shook his head. "That'll destroy her secret identity. Better if we take her."

* * *

**Dana**

* * *

"For _fuck's_ sake," muttered Dana. "I'm the arresting officer. I'll go with her to your base, make sure she gets properly booked. See her comfortable in a cell. Then I'll go back to the precinct to see about precedent for prosecuting a parahuman who's committed crimes in and out of costume."

"Fine," conceded Armsmaster. "That should cover all of the bases. You say you've got evidence of another murder?"

She nodded. "Kid called Greg Veder. I got a phone call earlier; apparently he was chatting to his buddies on a private channel about how Shadow Stalker came to talk to him about the locker murder, the night he got suffocated. Someone put an extra-large evidence bag over his head."

Armsmaster's tone was sceptical. "So why would she want to kill him? Or even talk to him?"

"I can answer that," Danny Hebert told him. "He approached me, told me who was bullying Taylor. She obviously wanted him shut up. I think … "

He trailed off, staring at the house. Armsmaster turned and looked, and Dana looked as well. The change had happened so gradually that no-one had noticed it, but now it was glaringly obvious.

The swarm was gone.

* * *

**Epilogue, Part 1**

* * *

As the last of the PRT vehicles rumbled off, Danny closed the front door and looked around.

"Taylor?" he called. "Taylor, I'm home."

Nothing. No reply. Hardly any bugs stirred.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes for a moment. He'd had the chance to talk to her again, catch her killer. It was better than nothing.

Walking through into the living room, he eyed the smashed TV, then unplugged it, hefted it and carried it back to the front door, remote and all. Opening the door, he carried it outside and left it next to the trash can. He repeated the trip with the remains of the broken chair and the glass from the smashed bottle of tomato paste. Then he began to scrub the wall clean.

* * *

In the basement, the cocoon that had been left behind by the retreating Swarm pulsed ever so slightly. It was six feet long, and shaped vaguely like a human being. One end split, and the opening widened, gradually reaching the length of the cocoon.

That which was inside, which had been forming all this time, sat up.

* * *

Danny was sitting at the kitchen table, resting from the effort of scrubbing at stubbornly resistant tomato paste, when his eyes fell on the paper. Words had been formed on it, made from tiny red dots. The words wandered across the page; they weren't all level, and nor were the letters all of the same size, but the message was clear.

**DAD**

**IT'S ME**

**I'M ALIVE**

**I'M IN THE SWARM**

**I LOVE YOU**

**TAYLOR**

As he stared at it, eyes filling with tears, there was a step behind him. He looked around, then came to his feet. Taylor stood there, skin glistening and pale, as if freshly formed over her frame. Her hair, likewise, was damp and stuck to her body.

"Taylor?" His voice sounded very far away to him.

She smiled tremulously. "Dad?"

In two strides, he reached her; he took her in his arms and held her as though he would never let her go.

* * *

**Epilogue, Part 2**

* * *

**Emily**

* * *

"_Ma'am, Daniel Hebert is here for the appointment."_

Emily Piggot tapped the intercom button. "Send him in."

The door opened, and Danny Hebert entered, followed by a tall skinny teenager. She looked oddly familiar to Piggot.

"Who's this?" the Director asked. "This appointment was with you alone."

Danny smiled oddly. "Director Piggot," he told her, "I'd like you to meet my daughter."

She frowned. "You only had one child."

He nodded. "I do. This is Taylor."

Piggot blinked. "No. Taylor is dead. Or getting around Brockton Bay as a sentient swarm of insects. One of the two."

'Taylor' shook her head. "I figured out how to remake my body. Sort of."

The Director stared. "And you retain your bug control?"

Taylor nodded. "I am the Swarm. The Swarm is me."

_No, that doesn't sound ominous at all._ "So, what can I do for you … two?"

"I was made the offer to join the Protectorate," Danny told her. "Does that extend to Taylor?"

"As an intelligent swarm, that might have been a little difficult," Piggot noted. "But if you've been … reincarnated, or whatever it is. I suppose … " She interrupted herself, staring at Danny. "You have no reason to like us. Why are you even doing this?"

"The PRT needs more oversight," Danny told her. "Best way to make sure you get it right is to be a part of it."

"And because I want to have a life again," Taylor said, stepping forward. "You guys have the push to say that I was only comatose when I came out of the locker. I want to fake my not dying."

Piggot blinked. _That's a new one on me._ "We can arrange that, I suppose," she noted warily. "What names were you thinking of using?"

Danny tilted his head. "I was considering 'Union'."

Taylor elbowed him. "Way to go back to your Association roots, Dad."

He didn't deny it, Piggot noticed. She turned to the girl. "And you?"

Taylor shrugged. "Like I said, I am the Swarm."

"Swarm, right …" Piggot made a note. "I'm fairly sure we can work something out."

Taylor grinned. "And I want to do one other thing … "

* * *

**Epilogue, Part 3**

* * *

" … pursuant to the matter of item number six hundred and thirty-four, egregious assault upon the person of Taylor Hebert; that is, pushing and shoving her during gym class on … "

The voice of the PRT lawyer died away as the door opened.

Sophia, sitting next to the court-appointed ambulance-chaser, didn't bother looking around. Emma, sitting at the far end of the table next to her father and _his_ lawyer, didn't either. Since she had started agreeing to everything they were saying, throwing Sophia to the wolves in exchange for a lighter deal for herself, she hadn't met Sophia's eyes, or done much except look at the tabletop.

"Excuse me," the PRT lawyer announced in irritation. "This is a closed hearing. Only those people directly involved have clearance to be here."

"That's us."

Sophia stiffened; that was Danny Hebert's voice. It featured in her nightmares, now, ordering her to kill herself in slow and grotesque ways. He had _owned_ her, had utterly dominated her. Just being in his presence reduced her to … nothing.

"I fail to see how you have a bearing on what is happening in here, Mr Hebert." The lawyer was obviously well-informed. "And who do you mean by 'us'?"

Sophia slowly turned to look, just as someone else stepped out from behind him. In her peripheral vision, Alan Barnes' jaw slowly dropped. Emma Barnes slid off of her chair in a dead faint.

"No ..." Sophia managed. "No fucking _way_. You _died._ I _saw _you. You were_ dead."_

Taylor Hebert shrugged and gave her a half-smile. "I got better."

* * *

The End

* * *

_A/N: This is not necessarily the end of the story; Union and Swarm may yet appear in sequels. Just so you know._


End file.
